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Fi‘onti\piece, 


THE CHU.DREN ON THE BEACH 


See Page 67, 



FOR 


CLOVER 


BOYS AND 


BEACH 

GIRLS. 


By MARGARET VANDEGRIFT, ,1 gCxc-J..'. . 

. ( 

Author of “Co.mmon Sense in the Household,” “Ancient riiSTORV,” 

“ The Head Doll,” and “ Catching the Cat.” 



Chicago: 

W. B, CONKEY COMPANY, 

Publishers. 



f 



30493 


Library of Conpress 

IVfb C'jPiti fic(;fi/£0 

AUG 20 1900 

Copyneht entry 

SECOND COPY. 

Ofctivered to 

ORDER DIVISION, 

AUG 22 I90U 


68333 



Copyright by Porter & Coates, 1R80. 
Copyright, 1900, by VV. B. Conkey Company. 


Contents. 



CHAPTER I. 

[n which Every One is Introduced 

CHAPTER II. 

A Little Misunderstanding 


CHAPTER III. 

A Little Misunderstanding — concluded 


Clear Weather Again 


CHAPTER IV. 


69 


A Festival Week 


CHAPTER V. 


9c 


The Clambake 


CHAPTER VI. 


114 


CHAPTER VIL 

The Clambake — concluded 


125 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A Little Cloudy Again 


5 


154 


6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER IX. 

PAGE 

The Picnic 170 

CHAPTER X. 

The Beginning of a Story, and End of the Picnic 183 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Passengers, and the End of the Story 201 

CHAPTER XII. 

L 

Mrs. Heath’s Story, and a New Acquaintance 224 

CHAPTER XHI. 

Mrs. Heath’s Story — continued 252 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A Perhaps that Came True, and Another Story, and the End 273 



Illustrations. 


The Children on the Beach Frontispiece . 

“They Rocked and Played in the Boat’’ 13 

“Lina had taken a Family of Four Dogs” 17 

“It was their own Dandy, and Norody else”... 23 

Polly, Rob and Dandy 26 

“Sister, please Lend me a Pencil and Piece of Paper” 31 

“Kitty, Polly, and Dick surrounded Him” 35 

“ His Medicine was Administered at Short Intervals ” 39 

“The Boys laid detaining Hands on Dick” 43 

“Polly, Rob, and the Baby practised Jumps’* 47 

“Nora waved her Handkerchief to Tom” 51 

“Nora was Sitting before the Rough Easel” 55 

“On this Horse Rob took many a Long Journey” 59 

“Dick was Equipped with a huge Soldier-cap” 63 

“Kitty was Absorbed in a Domino-house” 71 

“The Little Duck ate out op the Silver Spoon” 79 

“Put Yourself in his Place” 83 

“Polly was Standing on a Chair”...., 87 

“Martha brought her Mending-basket out” 93 

Rob and Polly gathering Wild Rosf.s 103 

“A tiny White- and-Gray Kitfen confronted them” 109 

“One of the Foxes had the Cat’s Tail :n his Grip” 117 

“Master Rob, taken by Surprise, turned a Back Somersault” 123 


8 


ILLUSTRA TIONS. 


The Old Fisherman and his Son” 129 

“Dick Superintended and Cheered the Operation” 133 

“There was a Cat tangled in the Harness of a Doll’s Wagon” 137 

“ Bessie trying to coax Stumps and Tripod to Eat out of the same Plate 144 

“She stood courageously facing a Large Beetle” 151 

“I’ll go Away if you don’t want me to hear, Nora” 155 

Polly shaking Hands with the Little Dogs 158 

“A Lamb lying apparently Dead” 163 

“The Sail-boat made Quick Time to the Island” 172 

“Dick threw himself on the Grass and fell Asleep”. 176 

“I made it stop Sucking its Thumb” 179 

Alice carrying the Dove home 195 

“Three Little Squirrels frisked over the Cat’s back” 203 

“Ruth patiently held the Cage upon her Lap” 216 

“Dick, Rob, Polly, and Tom picked industriously” 217 

“The Children’s Hearts were Saddened by finding a Dead Bird” 221 

Mrs. Heath relating the Story of Effie’s Membership 225 

“Come, Little Missy, or you’ll not get this Train” 1 233 

“The Children’s Day” 239 

“She knelt with her little Bedfellow at the kind Matron’s Knee” 255 

“ Polly flew to Lina and caught her Hand ” 266 

“There stood a Girl with a Kitten on her Shoulder” 269 

“She bundled me up Warmly and I set out” 275 

“A Little Boy was Standing by the Fence” 276 

“The half-frozen Birds hopped close to her Feet” 277 

“I SAW several Boys skating on a Pond” 279 

“On being let in He acted Singularly” 283 




Clover Beach. 


CHAPTER I. 

IN WHICH EVERY ONE IS INTRODUCED. 

kSpHERE were eight of the Cheston 
^ children, and, although they did 
not by any means agree about every- 
thing, they did agree, without a dissenting voice, in saying that that 
was exactly the right number of children for one family. It was 
enough for any sort of round game, particularly if mamma and 
papa could be induced to join them, and it was enough to divide 
into several games if the eight could not possibly agree upon 
one. 

Lina and Charlie were twins, and were the oldest. They were 


0 



lO 


CLOVER BEACH. 


fourteen years old at the time of which I am writing-, and were 
beginning to feel a little grown-up. Next came Dick, then Nora, 
then Kitty, then Rob, then Polly, and, last of all, little Tom, who 
was only three years old, and was petted and played with by every- 
body. He was another point of agreement; there was not one of 
them who contradicted the proposition, made at short intervals by 
different members, that he was “just the dearest baby that ever 
lived ” 

The younger children had nicknamed Lina and Charlie “ Substance 
and Shadow.” Charlie, being an upright and downright young man, 
who did not see, just yet, why his beliefs and opinions were not as 
good as those of people who had been in the world three or four 
times longer than he had, was Substance ; and Lina, being a rather 
dreamy young person, and inclined to follow Charlie’s lead in a 
deliberate and absent-minded manner, had earned her name of 
Shadow without using much exertion to do so. The rest of 
them were a good deal like many other civilized children between 
the ages of twelve and three ; they were extremely fond of each 
other, and desolate when separated ; but as all were healthy, honest, 
and strong-willed, there was a good deal of what they called “ dis- 
cussion ” perpetually going on between them. 

Clover Beach had become a second home to them, and a sugges- 
tion that any other summer resort could be a tenth part as desirable 
would have been received with an unanimous howl of dissent. 
They usually took possession on the first of June, .and gave it up 


IN WHICH EVERY ONE IS INTRODUCED. 


1 1 


when the weather became too cold for comfort there; so their 
return to their city home was, as Lina said, a “movable fast.” The 
cottage which they annually filled stood in the corner of a farm 
owned by a long-suffering farmer named Denison, whose wife, 
being a worthy helpmeet, took a contract to board them all ; and 
I think they never lost a sort of festive feeling of being invited 
somewhere as they left the cottage for the short walk to the great 
“ best kitchen ” of the farm-house, where they took their meals. 
There were no other boarders, so they had the table quite to them- 
selves, and the exercises were delightfully varied, on stormy days, 
by the appearance at the cottage of Mr. Denison disguised in an 
oil-skin coat and a “ sou’-wester,” and bringing the meals in a huge 
basket: this was equal to a picnic almost, and came very near 
making up for a day’s imprisonment. 

Clover Beach was no barren stretch of sand, with the fact that 
it was a beach for its sole recommendation. No : if you had looked 
only at the great oaks, the deep, rich grass, and the bright wild 
flowers which surrounded the house, you would never have guessed 
that you were near the sea unless you had a nose, and then you 
could not have helped guessing it. I wonder if you have ever 
smelled a sea-breeze which has come straight across a field of 
blossoming clover? I do hope you have. 

The farm-house and cottage were a quarter of a mile from the 
beach, but then, as if to compensate for this, the loveliest river, with 
great pine trees on either bank, ran softly to the sea not a hundred 


12 


CLOVER BEACH. 


yards from the wide back piazza. The chief beauty of this river, 
at least in Mrs. Cheston’s opinion, was, that although it was nearly 
half a mile wide just here, it was so shallow that an upset out of 
one of the half dozen boats which the family owned meant nothing 
more serious than standing on the bottom of the river — which was, 
unfortunately, rather muddy — until the boat was righted. But to 
the children its chief beauty was, that although it was really so 
shallow, it didn’t look so : as they rocked and played in the boats 
they could look through its mouth straight out to sea, and “ pretend” 
almost anything in the way of limitless voyages and frightful ad- 
ventures, from Sindbad the Sailor and Robinson Crusoe to the 
Swiss Family Robinson and Young Marooners. 

Nobody took many clothes to Clover Beach. A stout blue flan- 
nel suit apiece for common, which had to be very stout indeed, and 
some sort of decent woollen dress for Sunday wear, were all any one 
needed in the way of outside garments, for there was always a 
pleasant freshness in the air, which made woollen fabrics the only 
comfortable clothing; and Mrs. Cheston saved the mangled remains 
of one summer’s blue flannels until the next, which prevented the 
painful necessity of sending anybody to bed or putting him into his 
best clothes while his common ones were dried. 

This summer of which I am writing was to be a little differeni 
from past summers. Mr. Cheston’s business had failed to yield the 
usual income for some time, and, he was a firm believer in the state- 
ment that 



THEY ROCKED AND PLAYED IN THE BOAT 








IN WHICH EVERY ONE IS INTRODUCED. 


15 


“ If you can’t raise up your lot to your mind. 

You can bring down your mind to your lot." 

He had warned his wife and children before leaving home that 
they would have to “ take in sail a little,” not thinking it worth while 
to mention that his sail had already been shortened by a mended 
dust-coat instead of a new one, several pairs of half-soled boots and 
shoes, and a somewhat liberal patronage of a scouring and dyeing 
establishment. 

“We are not going to give up Clover Beach, are we, papa?*' 
asked Lina anxiously ; at which suggestion there was a seven-fold 
groan. 

“No,” said Mr. Cheston. “I think we can manage it — he 
emphasized as he saw symptoms of a cheer, “ everybody will help 
pull.” 

“ Oh, we will ! we will !” said everybody rapturously. 

“ My last year’s blue flannel is perfectly good, mamma,” said 
Lina. 

“And you’re only grown about a foot,” suggested Charlie mis- 
chievously. 

“I don’t want a single best clothes, mamma,” exclaimed Dick 
virtuously; at which everybody laughed, for if there was anything 
that Dick especially abhorred it was his Sunday suit. 

“ Mamma must settle about your clothes,” said Mr. Cheston ; 
“ that is her lookout, and I have perfect confidence in her judg- 
ment. It is something much more serious which you have to de- 


i6 


CLOVER REACE. 


cide. We have always been able to take Martha and Sally, but if 
we go this year we must leave them at home ; which will mean that 
Lina must help mamma with you youngsters and with the sewing, 
and that Charlie must take his share of looking after the small boys. 
And I will also mention that we can’t hire a sail-boat once a week ; 
but the best part of Clover Beach will still be left, and some of you 
can understand what Jean Ingelow meant when she said, 

“ The dews of blessing heaviest fall 
Where care falls too." 

The children had grown quiet as Mr. Cheston spoke, but now, 
when he said more cheerfully, “ All in favor of going as poor trav- 
ellers hold up their hands !” every hand went up, and the suppress- 
ed cheer came out with a force which suggested that it had grown 
stronger by keeping. 

There were many talks, after that, between Mrs. Cheston and the 
children, for they had all agreed “not to worry poor papa” about 
anything: they knew he felt curtailing any of their pleasures much 
more than they felt having them curtailed. Lina had anticipated 
taking the family of four dogs which she lodged and boarded in the 
coach-house at the foot of the small city garden with her that sum- 
mer ; she had a very tender heart toward animals, and these dogs — 
which were all, Charlie assured her, “pure mongrels” — had been res- 
cued from the street under various circumstances which made them 
dear to her heart. But she knew that their transportation alone 





IN IVN/CH EVERY ONE IS INTRODUCED. 


19 


would cost more than her small purse held, and it would not be 
right to feed such a family at Mrs. Denison’s expense. She had 
meant to ask for an appropriation for the purpose, for the children 
were not denied a reasonable pleasure when consent was possible; 
and she had anticipated with keen delight the rambles and scampers 
through wood and field attended by three faithful squires. The 
fourth “inmate” was a forlorn but loving puppy, picked up only a 
few days before, and, the children thought, already manifesting 
promise of rare intelligence and fidelity. So poor Lina, after a 
tender and solemn interview with Major, Dandy, Floss, and Dot in 
the coach-house, during which she decided that Dot, on account of 
his utter helplessness, must be her choice, announced to her mother 
with a trembling voice that she was going to give away the other 
three, and that she thought there would be scraps and bones 
enough from their table to feed Dot, and she could take him in 
her lap during the journey. Her mother kissed her fondly, for they 
had talked over the pleasure of having the dogs that summer, and 
quite agreed that four dogs were none too many for eight children. 
But Mrs. Cheston knew that spoken sympathy would be very 
apt to bring tears, so she only said cheerfully: “Then I suppose 
you will give Floss and Major to the little Cramptons, and I 
will ask papa to inquire among his friends for a good master for 
Dandy.” 

The little Cramptons were the children of a neighbor, and they 
had often, with more candor than politeness, begged Lina for “ one 


20 


CLOVER BEACH. 


or two of her dogs,” remarking, after each refusal, that she was “ real 
mean when she had so many.” 

They, too, went to the country every summer, and the offer ot 
Floss and Major was met with shrieks of delight and gratitude. 
Mrs. Crampton herself called to thank Lina, for, she said, she hoped 
the children would not be for ever asking her what to play if they 
had two dogs to play with ; and she assured Lina that she might “ feel 
easy ’’about her pets, for they should be well fed and cared for. 
She added a few words of such warm praise for Lina’s generosity 
that Lina, with a bright blush, owned frankly that there was no gen- 
erosity in it — that it did not seem best to take so many dogs, and 
she was glad to find such a good home for two of them. She said 
nothing about Dandy, for she had entrusted to her father the com- 
mission to “find a very home” for him. But her heart felt 

pretty full when, the day before they started for Clover Beach, her 
father came hastily in, announcing that he had found an ideal home 
for Dandy — that there was no time to tell her of it now, but that 
she should learn all the particulars when they reached Clover Beach. 
More than one tear fell on Dandy’s rough head as Lina led him from 
the coach-house, charging him earnestly never to forget her, and she 
could not help feeling a little hurt by her father’s cheerful face. But 
she tried to console herself by thinking that he could not possibly 
know how much she loved Dandy, for she had chosen Dot, and 
that looked as if she loved him best ; and then, struck by the 
thought that Dandy might see it in precisely that light, she had 


IN WHICH EVERY ONE IS INTRODUCED. 


21 


a little cry by Dandy’s “vacant chair” in the coach-house, called 
herself an ungrateful baby, and threw herself eagerly into the 
preparations for the early start which was to take place the next 
morning. 

Dot behaved so intelligently and affectionately during the journey 
that the children, who had all lamented the loss of three such play- 
fellows as Major and Floss and Dandy, declared he knew all about 
it, and was trying to “make it up” to them. 

They reached the farm-house just in time to wash away the dust 
and “ cool off” a little before the six-o’clock tea ; and when every- 
body had eaten in a manner which was more flattering to Mrs. 
Denison’s kind heart than encouraging to her hopes of a profitable 
summer, Mr. Cheston called the children out, saying there was 
time for a little walk before dark, and he thought they might like 
to see the sheep. Mr. Denison had told him there was a remark- 
ably intelligent dog in the field with them — not a very high-bred 
animal, but one which he thought must be able to boast of at least 
one Scotch “ collie ” on his family tree. The children started eagerly 
off, reluctantly excusing their mother, who said that somebody must 
unpack the night-gowns and tooth-brushes; she was too tired to 
walk, and they could invite the American gentleman of Scotch 
descent to call upon her at his earliest convenience. She wanted 
to reserve three or four of the youngest children, but nobody was 
a bit sleepy, and Charlie volunteered as horse if any little legs 
should give out. 


22 


CLOVER BEACH. 


“ What is his name, papa ?” asked Lina as they climbed a hill 
and came in sight of the field of sheep, which were peacefully 
grazing therein. 

“Curiously enough,” said Mr. Cheston, “it is Dandy;” and just 
at that moment there was a joyful bark, and there, looking as if he 
had done nothing but mind sheep all his life, was their own Dandy 
and nobody else ! He sprang upon them, barking and whining, 
no doubt trying to tell them that the farmer had kept him in the 
stable all day, and only just left him by that bush with a stern in- 
junction to “ Watch !” 

The farmer appeared presently from behind the stone wall 
whence he had been watching the fun, and they all walked home 
together. Mrs. Cheston was quite as much surprised and delighted 
as any of them — excepting perhaps Lina — and papa had to tell at 
least three times how he had meant, from the first, that Lina should 
keep Dandy, but had wished her to feel the full satisfaction, as well 
as the pain, of her sacrifice — how the farmer had most opportunely 
had an errand to the city in which the Chestons lived the day before, 
and had gladly undertaken to escort Dandy home with him, as*suring 
Mr. Cheston that he was a valuable dog — much more of a sheep-dog 
than a mongrel. Everybody’s respect for Dandy rose at once, 
only Lina, laying her cheek for a moment on the rough head, whis- 
pered in his ear, “ I loved you just as much when I thought you were 
a ‘pure mongrel,’ dear.” 

And Dandy, by way of saying “ I know you did,” licked Lina’s 



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IN WHICH EVERY ONE IS INTRODUCED. 


25 


face with a comprehensive sweep of his great red tongue before 
she could draw it away. 

They all thought they were much too excited to sleep, but they 
changed their minds when heads had been on pillows for about five 
minutes, and did not even know they had changed them until the 
next morning, when they woke with a glad sense of freedom, and 
fell to unpacking and arranging and settling with great vigor. 
Mrs. Cheston and Lina had made some new hangings of bright 
flowered chintz for the cottage-parlor ; Charlie had been promised 
the honor of calking and painting the boats, and, not having a 
heart of stone, he allowed Dick and Rob to “ help,” after a promise 
from them to “be very good and mind every single word” he 
said. 

Nora skipped about from room to room, stopping sometimes to 
hold the tacks and hand the hammer to her mother and Lina, and 
promising to bestow her clothes in the little bureau in her room 
“ by and by,” while Kitty, with an air of grave importance, trotted 
up stairs with bundles of clothing in her somewhat small embrace, 
followed by little Polly, who with equal gravity carried up and 
down the battered old rag doll without which she never travelled ; 
and Tom, the baby, divided his attentions among them all until a 
sudden laugh of delight caused Charlie to look up and discover 
him with both hands deep in the white paint. It took Lina a good 
hour to scour him clean, but he seemed to enjoy the scouring so 
much that she could not find it in her heart to be angry with him. 


26 


CLOVER BEACH. 



After this little episode he was released on parole. Charlie kindly 
but firmly established him, with Polly and Rob for company, in a 
large boat of the farmer’s which was high and dry on the pebbly 
shore waiting repairs, and the little fellow, with a lapful of “ pretty 



stones ” and shells, sat contentedly in the bottom of the old boat, 
while Polly and Rob “ fished ” over the stern for Dandy, who swal- 
lowed the bait every time, but declined to be “ hauled in ” with 
respectful firmness ; and Kitty, distracted from her housekeeping 
cares by the talk and laughter on the shore, was made radiantly 


IN WHICH EVERY ONE IS INTRODUCED. 


27 


happy by Charlie’s request that she would help him splice a 
rope. 

Nobody but Charlie’s mother knew how many helps over hard 
places he gave the family that summer by his unobtrusive kindness 
and forbearance toward the children, but the love-light in her eyes 
was reward enough for him — that, and a desire for his company 
on the part of the children, which, if sometimes a little wearisome, 
was the sincerest possible flattery. 

So the day of settling and arranging passed off quietly, and 
everything, even Nora’s postponed share, was accomplished before 
it was time for the father to be there in the evening ; and when he 
arrived, just as the bell was ringing for the six-o’clock tea, the 
“ blue-flannel brigade ” was equipped and drawn up in order to 
meet him — very blue as to clothes and very white as to collars and 
hands and faces, and not the least in the world blue as to feelings. 
Mr. Cheston often said that he wished for a few extra pairs of ears 
every evening of his life, for when he had been away all day, and 
even when he had not, his wife and his eight children had so many 
things to tell him by evening that one pair of ears, even though 
they were pretty good-sized ones, was not enough. This evening 
he had to hear, “Did you remember the mosquito-netting, dear?” 

“ Oh papa, come straight into the parlor ; it’s lovely !” 

“ Papa, every single boat is calked, and two are painted be- 
sides.” 

“ Papa, I helped Charlie like everything ; he said so.” 


28 


CLOVER BEACH. 


“Papa, Mrs. Denison gave me a little garden and some seeds.” 

“ / helped Charlie too, papa.” 

“We’ve been fishing, papa, and we ’most caught Dandy two or 
three times.” 

“Mrs. Denison gave me a gray-and-white kitten, papa!” 

“I painted all my own hands, and sister had to scrape me just 
like the boat, papa.” 

Mr. Cheston clapped his hands over his ears. “No doubt you all 
spoke plainly,” he said, “but I am wrestling with an impression that 
the parlor is hung with mosquito-nettings, and the boats calked with 
kittens, and that Dandy has been fishing in the garden and caught 
some seeds. I would like one person to tell me if this is correct ?” 

Everybody laughed, and waited a minute for the rest to begin, 
and then, finding nobody did, they all began at once again ; but a 
second loud peal from the tea-bell caused a general scamper for the 
farm-house, and after tea and an hour on the broad piazza most of 
this hardworking family was very glad to go to bed. 



CHAPTER II. 



A LITTLE MISUNDERSTANDING. 

j OUBTLESS you will wonder what time of 
year it was when all this happened, and 
when I tell you it was the very beginning 
of June, you will wonder still, more what 
had become of school for those who were 
old enough to go to it. Mr. and Mrs. 
Cheston had ideas of their own upon this 
subject, which they carried out in spite of 
many well-meant remarks from people whose ideas were only theirs 
by adoption. They were very anxious that all of the eight, no 
matter how great they might become as to mind, might have sound 
and healthy bodies to carry out the intentions of their great minds; 
and during the weeks which were spent at Clover Beach before 
vacation began and after it ended, lessons were regularly learned 
and said, so that those of them who went to school might enter 
again on an equality with their schoolmates ; but every minute not 
occupied in this way, and some that were, were spent in the free 
air ; and when they did at last go home the cool and bracing weather 

29 


30 


CLOVER BEACH. 


of late autumn or early winter did not undo half the good they had 
gained, as a few hot weeks of September might have done. It 
was no “playing school,” as they fully understood; missed lessons 
were learned again on the day on which they were missed, and their 
mother s discipline was as firm as it was gentle. 

Among the sacrifices which were to be made this summer, not 
the least was Lina’s undertaking to divide the family mending with 
her mother. She was very fond of drawing, in which both she and 
Nora had made good progress, and although the more decided tal- 
ent possessed by Nora sometimes caused Lina a little feeling of 
envy, it was the old story of the hare and the tortoise : Lina’s 
plodding industry more than made up for Nora’s quickness. Lina 
would gladly have spent all of the stormy days, and even some of 
the fair ones, in this her favorite employment, and her mother ap- 
preciated her voluntary offer to be responsible for half of the 
mending. 

The day after the settling-day proved rainy, and Lina, who had 
brought an uncompleted drawing from school, established herself 
comfortably by the largest window in the little parlor and went 
eagerly to work, resolutely smothering a consciousness that her 
mother had a headache ; that Dick and Bob were doing something 
on the piazza which seemed to require a good deal of hammering ; 
that Kitty and Tom were in the next room ominously silent ; and 
that Polly, who was not very strong, and who often stole away from 
the rougher games of the other children, was standing wistfully at 


A LITTLE MISUNDERSTANDING. 


31 



the end of the table quietly watching her. Lina held off her draw- 
ing, looking at it, for a minute, and then went to work, becoming 
fully absorbed in a few minutes, so that she started unpleasantly 
when Polly, in the plaintive manner which somehow always annoyeu 


Lina, said, “ Sister, won’t you please lend me a pencil and piece ot 
paper ? It’s so lonesome with nothing to do, and my Kitty is asleep 
and won’t play.” 

“I think we might take the liberty of waking your Kitty up,” said 
Lina, trying hard to speak pleasantly and reaching out for the kic- 


32 


CLOVER BEACH. 


ten, which was curled up on the window-sill in a very sound nap 
indeed. But Kitty did not respond ; she purred sleepily, stretched 
herself, and curled up again with a determination which in some 
curious way made Lina think of her own. So, with no very good 
grace, Lina handed a pencil-stump and piece of paper to Polly, but 
in a few minutes the child made some motion which shook the table 
slightly, and Lina exclaimed sharply, “ I wish you’d go somewhere 
else with your drawing, Polly ; you nearly made me spoil this with 
your shaking.” 

The little girl trotted meekly away, and Lina resumed her draw- 
ing. But somehow the enjoyment of it was gone, and after a few 
minutes of unsuccessful trying to absorb herself in it once more, 
she laid down pencil and brush — for it was a water-color, one of the 
first that she had undertaken — resolving to call in Dick and Rob 
and try to interest all the children in some sort of moderately quiet 
game. But just as she rose for this good purpose her mother came 
into the room with the work-basket and Dick’s blue-flannel shirt of 
the 1?*^ summer. The headache from which she was suffering made 
her look so pale that Lina did not even say “ Oh !” when Mrs. 
Cheston handed her the shirt, which was split down the back in a 
manner suggestive of a cast-off locust chrysalis, saying, “ I’m sorry 
to give you this to do, dear, but it was overlooked before we left 
home, and I’m afraid Dick will get wet to-day and need it.” 

Lina took it, saying as cheerfully as she could, “ Oh, never mind, 
mamma; it’s just a straight tear, and I can soon mend it.” 


A LITTLE MISUNDERSTANDING. 


33 


“Where are the rest of the children?” said Mrs Cheston, looking^ 
round a little anxiously. “ I don’t want them to go out and get wet, 
and my head has ached so I was obliged to lie still.” 

“ Charlie is in his room, mamma,” replied Lina, “ trying to work 
out that last example you set him — he says it’s very hard ; and Dick 
and Rob are pounding dreadfully out on the porch — I was just 
going to call them in ; and I don’t know where the rest are.” 

A slight crash and a little scream from the next room answered 
for Kitty and Tom, who were found whimpering over a broken co- 
logne-bottle. 

“I hoped you were trying to take my place, dear,” said Mrs. 
Cheston, a little reproachfully. “ I think the drawing could have 
waited.” 

“ I’m sorry, mamma,” answered Lina penitently. “ I’ll try to do 
something to amuse them now, and you go and lie down again ; you 
look ready to drop.” 

“ My head does ache very badly ” said Mrs. Cheston, kissing Lina 
as she spoke, “and I must lie down, I am afraid; so I will have to 
ask you to take my place to-day. I am sorry about the drawing, 
dear.” 

“ Indeed, it doesn’t matter, mamma,” said Lina, returning the kiss 
warmly. “ I was very selfish to go at it when I knew your head 
ached, but I’ll try to make up for that now.” 

She tucked her mother up in her bed, and then went to persuade 

the carpenters to rest a while. This was easily done by the promise 
3 


34 


CLOVER BEACH. 


of a game of some sort in the garret of the cottage, which was a 
wide unceiled room extending all over the house, whose sloping 
roof made opportunity for two or three wings from the rafters. 
Lina had some difficulty in coaxing Nora to lay aside the story- 
book with which she had retired to a corner of the garret ; Kitty 
and Tom were somewhat depressed by their misfortune with the 
cologne-bottle ; Charlie, who, as they all agreed, “ made everything 
go,” was still busy with his example. The game was not a very 
spirited one, and at its close, Polly, Kitty, and Dick took possession 
of Tom, and announced that they were going down to the parlor to 
play “ Bad Lady,” As this was the quietest of all their games, being, 
like the White Knight’s contrivances, “an invention of their own,” 
and consisting of a “ pretend ” that the “ bad lady ” visited her 
friends every day, to their great annoyance, compelling them to 
treat her with frigidity on all days but those, at long intervals, when 
they considered a visit allowable, Lina let them go upon their prom- 
ising to be “ very quiet indeed ” and to stay in the parlor. She 
succeeded in interesting Nora and Rob in a story, and silence 
reigned until the sound of Mr. Denison’s boots upon the piazza 
announced dinner, and there was a general rush to open the door. 
Lina had seen the approaching dinner from her lofty window, and 
had run down stairs to gather up her painting and drawing materials 
from the only table in the parlor. She could not help smiling at 
the sight which presented itself as she entered the door. The baby, 
perched in his high chair at the table, was holding her color-box on 



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A LITTLE MISUNDERSTANDING. 


37 


his hand, as he had seen her hold it, while he painted busily at what 
she did not at first see. His lips were pressed earnestly together, 
and his feet crossed tightly ; he was evidently very much engaged 
with his work, while Kitty, Polly, and Dick surrounded him with 
admiration written on their face^. Lina went to lift him down, and 
then she saw he had been illuminating a sketch upon which she 
especially prided herself, and which she had meant to elaborate into 
a picture. She could not scold the baby, but she turned angrily to 
Dick. “ I think jyou might have stopped him, anyhow, Dick,” she said ; 
“ you knew how I valued that sketch.” 

“ Indeed, Lina,” answered Dick earnestly, “ I was working at a 
puzzle away off there in the corner when he began to paint, and 
I only just now looked, and he had daubed it up so I didn’t know 
what it was at all,” 

Somehow, the fact that Lina had been mending the chasm in 
Dick’s shirt, as she told the story, seemed to add to her bitterness 
of feeling, but she controlled herself with a violent effort, and 
began to arrange the table. Her mother came in while she was 
doing this, saying cheerfully, “I have had a good nap, and the 
headache is al. gone: the house has been as still as the Sleeping 
Beauty’s palace.” 

Then, noticing the cloud on Lina’s face, she asked : “ What is the 
matter, dear.'*” 

While Lina was trying to frame a moderate answer Dick replied 
for her: “Baby has painted over Lina’s best picture, mamma, but 


38 


Ci^Ol^ER BEACH. 


indeed I didn’t know he was doing it, and I’m very sorry he has 
done it.” 

“ I am sorry too,” said Mrs. Cheston ; “ but Lina, dear, you know 
how often I have warned you about leaving your things within 
Baby’s reach: he is too little yet to understand fully about not 
touching what does not belong to him. I think I can take the paint 
off, if you will give me the picture, without destroying the pencil- 
lines.” 

“Thank you, mamma,” said Lina gratefully. “I know I ought to 
have put the things away, but Baby was up stairs with me at first, 
and I forgot about them afterward.” 

Everything went better after dinner. Charlie’s example was at 
last done, and he exalted Dick by offering to play chess with him. 
Mr. Denison, when he brought the dinner, had gravely produced 
from his deepest pocket a large bunch of carpet-rags and some 
s out thread, saying that his wife had sent word that she would be 
very much obliged indeed if any of the young ladies would help her 
out by sewing these, as she was in a hurry for the carpet. Nora 
seized eagerly upon the bright-colored strips, and spent a happy 
afternoon sorting, sewing, and winding them, declaring that it was 
“ not a bit like stupid plain sewing.” 

Dandy had made his way in with the dinner, and the little ones 
had begged so hard for him that he was allowed to stay. His wet 
feet suggested a new “play;” he was pronounced very ill with “in- 
formation of the lungs,” and his medicine, which, fortunately for him, 



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A LITTLE MISUNDERSTANDING. 


41 


was nothing worse than milk and water, carefully bottled and 
labelled, was administered at alarmingly short intervals by three 
attentive nurses, who felt greatly encouraged by the fact that he had 
an excellent appetite for the numerous saucers of watered gravy 
which did duty for beef-tea. Lina, with a clear conscience, worked 
happily at her “ restored ” drawing, from which her mother’s skilful 
fingers had quite cleared the paint, and every one was surprised 
when the “ carry-all ” drew up at the door to let Mr. Cheston out. 
The clouds let the sun out almost at the same minute, and there 
was a general clapping of hands at the prospect of a fine day after 
the rainy one. The next day was as fine as it had promised to be, 
and the drying properties of sand were fully appreciated as the 
children raced down to the beach after lessons, followed at some 
distance by Mrs. Cheston, who, after a few turns on the sand, went 
back, leaving the younger ones in Lina’s and Charlie’s care. The 
great excitement of the day was pitching the tent, which had been 
purchased with the united savings of the children. They had 
longed for it all the previous summer, and gone without a number 
of small things during the winter that they might buy it. It was 
large enough to hold all the family with close packing, but then 
they would very seldom want to be in it all at once. They chose a 
sheltered spot beside a high rock. Charlie drove the stakes secure- 
ly in with a heavy mallet which Mr. Denison had lent him, and every- 
body helped fasten the cords. They arranged it with the gable 
toward the sea, so that when the flap-doors were raised the sea- 


42 


CLOVER BEACH. 


breeze swept through it delightfully ; and that, with the shelter from 
the sun which it afforded, made them proudly confident that there 
would be one cool place, no matter what the summer might do in tlT,e 
way of heat. 

The younger children soon found the coolness too much of a 
good thing for the time of year, and scattered over the beach pick- 
ing up seaweed and shells, while Charlie and Lina remained around 
the tent arranging the extra cover which was to keep it water-tight, 
and quite oblivious of the little brothers and sisters until the sound 
of loud voices and laughter, and then a scream from the little ones, 
drew their attention to a good-sized boat filled with rough-looking 
boys. To their consternation, they saw Dick standing up among 
the boys, apparently trying to get out, but a man, whom Charlie 
recognized as a fisherman who lived in the neighborhood, pushed 
off the boat, while the boys laid detaining hands on Dick, and Rob, 
with a startled face, stood looking on. By the time Lina and 
Charlie could reach the spot the boat was some little distance out, 
and Rob told rather incoherently how Dick had said he wished he 
was going fishing too, and the boys had half helped, half shoved 
him into the boat. 

The fisherman laughed at Lina’s and Charlie’s consternation. 
“You needn’t be worried, little miss,” he said to Lina; “they’re only 
going to anchor a bit out there and fish, and I’ll warrant your little 
brother will be a good-right gladder to come in than he was to go 
out.” 







A LITTLE MISUNDERSTANDING. 


45 


There was nothing for it but to go back and tell their mother, who, 
full of anxiety lest the boat should put out farther to sea, paced up 
and down the beach until she saw the boys raise the anchor and be- 
gin to row in. It was a very white and wretched little boy that was 
fished up from the bottom of the boat and handed ashore, and his 
mother saw at once that he had been sufficiently punished; so she 
said no more than that she was glad to have him safely back again 
until she was tucking him up in bed that night. He had tried to 
excuse himself by saying that she had never told him he must not 
go fishing with boys ; adding that he had only said he wished he 
were going, and that then they had taken hold of him and pulled 
him in. But his mother’s gentle words soon made him see the 
falseness of this excuse, and he said honestly, “ Mamma, I needn’t 
have gone so close, and I hoped they would ask me when I said I 
wished I could go; and if I had run away when I saw them coming 
to pull me in, they wouldn’t have waited to catch me. But I’m really 
and truly sorry, mamma — not just because I was so dreadfully sick, 
though I thought I was going to die, but because I disobeyed you — 
No, I didn’t disobey you, either — ” and Dick stopped, puzzled. 

“ My little boy disobeyed in spirit, but not in letter,” said Mrs. 
Cheston ; “ and you know we are told that ‘ the letter killeth, but the 
spirit giveth life ;’ that is, if we do things which are unforbidden in 
words which we know in our hearts are wrong, that is the real dis- 
obedience, even though we are obeying all the written and spoken 
commands laid upon us.” 


46 


CLOVER BEACH. 


“Yes, I see, mamma,” said Dick. “People have to remember a 
great many things, I think,” he added with a sigh. 

“ But not without help,” said Mrs. Cheston as she kissed her little 
boy good-night. “ The dear Father is always listening to the smallest 
and weakest of his children, and he says, ‘ My grace is sufficient for 
thee. 

The impression which this incident and the little talk which fol- 
lowed made on Dick was deepened by the fact that his mother ex- 
acted no promise when he went to the beach next morning, and. 
although he said nothing, he made a very firm resolve that such 
trust should not be disappointed. 

The weather and water soon grew warm enough to make bathing 
and wading safe and comfortable, and then, the children decided, 
the fun began in earnest. Lina could not or did not help some- 
what envying the younger ones; she did not like sewing, and could 
not sew both rapidly and well ; and she groaned to herself, and 
sometimes, I am sorry to say, to other people, over her share of 
the weekly mending, which generally did look rather appalling as 
it lay in state on the largest bed fresh from the wash. But her 
share was done notwithstanding, and honestly done ; and she was 
even beginning to take an interest in putting on “ mathematically- 
correct ” patches, and to find, by timing herself, that she grew able 
from day to day to sew a little faster without slighting her work. 
She was given to dreaming, as I have said, and one of her mother’s 
g<intle talks had shown her how to turn her imagination into a help 



POLLY, HOP, AND THE BABY PRACTISED JUMPS 






















A LITTLE MISUNDERSTANDING. 


49 


instead of a hinderance; so one morning, when she found Polly and 
Rob and the baby earnestly practising “jumps” off a step and 
measuring with a string the distance jumped, she “made a note” 
of the lesson in patience and perseverance which Rob uncon- 
sciously conveyed as he said, “Just see, sister! I jumped that much 
longer to-day than I could yesterday and he triumphantly held 
up a knotted string. “Baby’s only just begun to-day,” he added, 
“but we’re teaching him, and he’ll soon learn.” 

Lina attempted a sketch of the pretty little group, but it did not 
satisfy her, and she flattered Nora into two whole days of unusual 
sweetness by asking her to make a picture from the unsatisfactory 
sketch, telling her why she wished it. Nora did her very best, and 
made a really pretty picture, which Lina pinned to the wall of the 
room which they shared; and its silent lesson had more effect than 
they were aware of on both of them that summer. It was the old 
story of the never-ending ripple from the stone thrown in the water. 
No matter how small the stone, the widening circles keep on. 

Nora had an unusual talent for drawing for a child of her age, 
and the spurring which Lina’s generous praise gave it made her 
overcome her indolence and take up her pencil again. The draw- 
ing was a thing upon which Mrs. Cheston did not insist after they 
left school, for she wished them to be as much as possible in the 
open air, but she was very glad to see her two oldest daughters 
sketching amicably together from fence-corners and perches in 
conveniently low apple trees; for these two, of all her children, 


50 


CLOVER BEACH. 


were the ones whose wills and tempers most often clashed. They 
both possessed the power of irritating each other by sharp, sarcas- 
tic speeches, and both were only too well aware of the joints in each 
other’s armor. Nora had a curious fear of the sea, and could not 
be induced to bathe in it, and Mrs. Cheston wisely refrained from 
urging ; so, while the rest were bathing — for even little Tom went 
fearlessly in, clinging to the arm of the farmer’s stout, good-natured 
daughter — Nora would wander up and down the sand with an old 
net which had been washed up and discovered by the children, 
fancying herself the “fisher-maiden,” and feeling very romantic 
indeed. On one of these occasions she unfortunately waved her 
handkerchief to Tom, who, with his stout companion’s arm in his 
grasp, was capering toward the shore. The other children had 
just come out of the water, and Lina, who had been particularly 
annoyed that morning by some piece of carelessness about their 
room, called out sarcastically, “Your white flag is highly appro- 
priate, my dear; it would be still more so if it were only a 
feather .” 

The rest of the children, even Charlie, laughed thoughtlessly, and 
Nora, too angry to think of anything appropriate to say, shut her 
lips in a manner which Lina would have done well to accept as 
a warning. But she scampered to the bath-house without noticing 
Nora’s face, and the incident was immediately forgotten by every one 
but Nora. 





CHAPTER III. 


A LITTLE MISUNDERSTANDING— CONCLUDED. 

DAY or two after this, Lina, passing 
through the narrow hall of the cottage, 
came upon Nora, who was sitting be- 
fore the rough easel which Charlie had 
made her, so absorbed with a charcoal 
drawing that she did not see Lina 
until the latter was close upon her, 
when she snatched the drawing from 
the easel, saying pettishly, “ How you 
scared me, Lina ! I wish you woufd 

not jump out on people so.” 

Lina laughed. “Your conscience must be bad. I’m afraid. Miss 
O’Neal,” she said lightly, and passed on. If she had not been 
hurrying to meet Charlie at the tent, her curiosity would have been 
roused as to the picture which Nora so hastily concealed, and she 
would also not have wasted so good an opportunity to tease Nora 
about her artistic get-up. Lina never cared, so long as she had 

good working- materials, about the “accessories,” as she grandly 

65 



54 


CLOVER REACH. 


called them ; but Nora had a weakness for looking like an artist, 
and had coaxed Charlie — who was easily coaxed about such things 
as this — into making her an easel, a highly artistic-looking mahl- 
stick, and a small camp-stool which could be folded up for greater 
convenience in carrying. 

Lina, as I said, was becoming resigned to assisting with the fam- 
ily mending, and even taking some pride in it, and Charlie did 
not dream how much his ever-ready sympathy had done toward 
that end. It was not idle sympathy, either. He lightened many an 
hour of her labors for her by helping her to move down to the tent 
on her mending-days, and there, with the great waves breaking at 
their feet, the “keen, sweet smell” of the ocean blown in their 
faces, and Charlie’s pleasant voice reading some old or new treas- 
ure to her, she must have been a much more ungracious and un- 
grateful girl than she was to have felt her burden a very heavy 
one in this respect. As she grew more accustomed and resigned 
to the sewing, she began to take rather more credit to herself 
about it than she really deserved. There is a pleasure in doing 
almost anything well ; this pleasure she had learned, and I am afraid 
she mixed it up a little in her mind with the other and higher 
pleasure of doing right just for the sake of right, and of that love 
which made so great a sacrifice for us. It did not occur to her that 
she was still found wanting by a much more real test. The care 
of the younger children was a worriment to which she did not seem 
to become in the least resigned ; and Mrs. Cheston saw with sorrow 



“NORA WAS SITTING BEFORE THE ROUGH EASEL." 


See Page 53, 


A LITTLE MISUNDERSTANDING. 


57 


the increasing irritability with which she checked and reproved 
them when they were in her charge. 

Lina was fully conscious of this herself, and had many a secret 
crying-spell about it ; but the feeling that she had conquered her- 
self about the sewing gave her an idea that, since she had failed 
to overcome this other dragon, it must be invincible. Charlie was 
naturally sweet-tempered and hated discord ; he had, besides, a 
great horror of being supposed to “preach;” so he said nothing, 
although he felt deeply for Lina, for he saw, and guessed when he 
did not see, how her cross words to the children reacted on her 
own happiness. He chanced to be present one day when Lina 
reminded the younger children, far more sharply than the occasion 
required, that they had been forbidden to wade that morning, and 
he said, very gently and playfully, “ Remember the little donkey, 
Lina ; you know we were often able to lead her where we could 
not drive her.” 

Lina turned her head away to hide the tears that filled her eyes, 
and Charlie, fearing he had only made matters worse, said no 
more. 

Mrs. Cheston stayed with the younger ones herself as much as 
she possibly could, but she often liked them to be down on the 
beach when she could not conveniently leave the house ; and then 
it was Lina’s and Charlie’s trust to see that the little sisters and 
brothers fell into neither mischief nor danger. Charlie’s mind 
was fertile in expedients, and Lina did not feel the care of the 


58 


CLOVER BEACH. 


children half so much when he was with her; but his lessons 
always occupied him a good while, for his memory was retentive, 
but not quick, and he was very conscientious about them. It was 
he who had made Rob happy for days, and at intervals for all 
summer, by fastening a saddle improvised from the remains of a 
door-mat, covered with an old piece of gay-colored chintz, and 
some loops for stirrups, to the trunk of the great wisteria which 
clambered over the farm-house, and which had grown to such a size 
that it looked more like a prostrate tree which had suddenly de- 
cided to pick itself up and run than a vine. On this “horse” 
Rob took many a long “pretend” journey, and had adventures 
only less wonderful than those of the immortal Don Quixote. It 
was Charlie who showed the children that fresh water could be 
found by digging a hole, and not a very deep one, just behind the 
sandy bluff on the seashore; it was he who marked off the “ hop- 
scotch ” grounds on the sand, and who was the ultimate authority 
in all disputes about the various games. It was not always 
pleasant or easy for him to give up whatever he happened to be 
doing when the children appealed to him ; but Charlie was earnestly 
trying to follow his Master, and of all that he knew of that beloved 
Master I think these few words had sunk most deeply into his 
heart: “Even Christ pleased not Himself.” 

Nora’s strong will exercised itself a good deal over Dick, and 
these two were generally the ringleaders in any unlawful doings; 
and if Lina would but have taken them into her confidence, and 






A LITTLE MISUNDERSTANDING. 


6l 


asked their help, she would have had little or no trouble, for Nora, 
queer and stubborn as she often was, was also loving and honor- 
able when her shell was penetrated, and, like the little donkey, 
she could be far more easily led than driven. She had an absurd 
talent for caricature, and could hit off a recognizable likeness in 
her roughest drawings ; and when she found that she had the 
power to annoy Lina with her works of art, she exerted her 
invention, and Lina never knew what misrepresentation of her- 
self and Charlie she might find on the sand swept so temptingly 
smooth by the retreating tide. 

One bright morning in June, just before their holidays began, 
Lina reluctantly left her drawing to go with the children to the 
beach. There had been a storm the day before, which had made 
the air unusually cool for the time of year and the sea very 
rough. 

“ It is too cold for bathing, or even for wading, this morning, 
dears,” said Mrs. Cheston as she helped Lina to button them up 
in old sacks and waterproofs, “and I don’t wish you to get your 
feet wet, for you nearly all have little colds ; so don’t go any farther 
down the beach toward the water than to that heap of drift and 
stones where we were sitting yesterday. — You will see that they 
do not, daughter?” she added, turning to Lina. 

“ Yes, mamma — if I can,” said Lina despondently. 

Her mother took the injured-looking face between her hands and 
kissed it. “ Dear child,” she said, “ I wish I could see you make 


62 


CLOVER BEACH. 


your Sunday lessons last you all the week. St. Paul’s ‘ thorn in 
the flesh ’ was not removed ; he was told, ‘ My grace is sufficient 
for thee but to make it sufficient we must ask for it every day 
and many times a day.” 

“ I do — indeed I do, mamma,” said Lina earnestly, “ but you don’t 
know — ” and she stopped, unwilling to say what seemed to her like 
telling tales. 

“ No, darling, we cannot, any of us, know just what another’s 
trials and temptations are, but there is always One who ‘ knows all, 
yet loves us better than He knows.’ Now run after the children,” 
she added gently; and Lina went, half comforted, but only half, for 
she felt as if her mother undervalued her trouble, and she had not 
yet fully turned to that other Help which, rightly trusted, never fails. 

The children were nowhere in sight, and she ran down the lane 
which led to the sea, fearing they had had time to get into mischief 
already. She was reassured, however, as she came out of the lane 
and passed through the patch of bayberry-bushes which bordered 
the sand. There they all were, quite within the prescribed limit, 
gathered around Nora and shouting with laughter. Lina’s heart 
relented ; she resolved to amuse as well as keep watch over them, 
and as she drew near she called out cheerfully, “ Come, children, 
let’s dig a deep square place for a pond here, just above the stones ; 
and then, if we dig some little canals to-morrow down to high-water 
mark, we shall have a famous place to sail the boats.” 

There was an eager assent from everybody but Nora, who hung 



UICK WAS EQUIPPED WITH A HUGE SULDIER-CAP 





A LITTLE MISUNDERSTANDING. 


65 


her head and began to walk away, marshalling by her side Dick, 
who, like herself, was ornamented with a huge paper soldier-cap, 
and also equipped with a red handkerchief tied to a stick and the 
lid of Mrs. Denison’s largest boiler. He held back a little, but 
Nora gave him a resolute push and nodded mischievously to Lina 
over her shoulder as they marched away, remarking, “ We’re going 
crusading.” 

Lina had been looking at them, amused by this fresh freak of 
Nora’s, but now the children’s glances called her attention to what 
lay at her feet. It was a rude but really funny drawing, on a very 
large scale, of the tent with Charlie and herself within it. Charlie 
was decorated with a pair of huge spectacles, and appeared to be 
reading from a book nearly as large as himself, but the chief energies 
of the designer had been bestowed upon Lina. Nora had unfortu- 
nately been present the day before when Lina had asked her 
mother if she might “ put up her hair with a comb ” before she 
went back to school ; consequently the portrait was adorned with 
a huge knot of hair fastened up by a comb at least a foot high. 
Rude as some of Nora’s drawings were, she undoubtedly had 
talent, for her faces generally wore the expression she meant them 
to have ; and this was a notable instance : the self-satisfied smirk on 
the face which was meant for Lina’s was uncomfortably like Lina’s 
smile when she felt superior. A large basket, which, to avoid all 
misunderstanding, had “ Mending ” conspicuously on its side, stood 
near, and in the hands of the figure were a needle and what was 


66 


CLOVER BEACH. 


evidently meant for a much-patched bathing-dress. But it was the 
inscription more than all the rest which reduced Lina to speechless 
anger and disgust; underneath, in irregular but perfectly legible 
letters, was printed, “ The Kristyan Marteress.” 

If Charlie had only been there he would have helped her to 
laugh it off, for he always laughed or retorted by good-naturedly 
caricaturing Nora’s defects in drawing; but Lina was very sensi- 
tive to ridicule, and only a day or two before had greatly resented 
the indignity of a would-be likeness of herself leading a band of 
subdued-looking infants, each with a rope around its neck, into 
the sea for a bath. And, unfortunately, Charlie was not there to 
encourage her, being, as usual, a little late with his lessons. 

It was too much. Lina burst into tears and sank down on the 
sand sobbing bitterly, and the children, frightened at this unusual 
sight, ran after Nora to inform her, in consternation, that “ sister 
was crying like everything.” 

A great many people since Pharaoh’s time have “ hardened their 
hearts,” and Nora did it then. “ Let her cry, then, if she’s such 
a baby,” she said scornfully, while her heart quaked with fright 
at the result of her naughtiness. “ Come on ; let’s finish the fort 
and stick in the flag.” 

“ Oh, but, Nora,” said Dick, hanging back, “ the fort’s below 
the stones, and you know what mamma said.” 

“I know,” answered Nora, “but mamma thought the sand would 
be wet, and it’s quite, quite dry ; and besides,” she added viciou.sly. 


A LITTLE MISUNDERSTANDING. 


67 


“mamma told Lina to take care of us, and if she doesn’t call us 
back it’s all right.” And she ran toward the fort, which the 
waves had partly washed away since the day before. At the 
same moment Charlie appeared on the beach to find Lina, with a 
sullen face, just rubbing out with her spade the last lines 3f the 
picture, and the children, unheeded, on the forbidden ground. 

“ Why, Lina !” he exclaimed “ they’re all where mamma told 
them not to go!” 

“ I can’t help it. Charlie,” said Lina forlornly. “ I was just 
thinking how I would try to be kinder to them, and had called 
out to them to come and dig a pond — and I would much rather 
have read — when I found the worst picture Nora has drawn yet : 
it was perfectly insulting, and I’m glad I had it rubbed out before 
you saw it. I Q. 2 .nnot take care of those children any more unless 
mamma will keep Nora with her.” 

Charlie’s only answer was to make a speaking-trumpet of his 
hands and shout at the top of his voice, “ Children I O you chil- 
dren ! come off the forbidden ground to once’t !” 

They all ran to him immediately — all but Nora, who stood 
defiant on the remains of the fort. Charlie walked down to the 
boundary and called again, still speaking kindly and cheerfully, 
“Nora, come back, dear; I don’t want to bring poor mamma 
through the sand just for one-eighth of her children, when the other 
seven-eighths are all right.” 

Nora began to come, but very slowly, and kicking the sand 


68 


CLOVER BEACH. 


about as she walked a g-ood deal more than was necessary as she 
remarked easily, “Well, I’ll come for you. Sub, because you’re 
not^ for ever ’n’ ever nagging me.” 

The hour on the beach was not particularly cheerful after that. 
Lina took no notice whatever of Nora, but tried, Jn a rather sub- 
dued fashion, to amuse the others ; so Charlie took compassion on 
the rebel, and kept her quiet with “ r.it-tat-toe ” played on the sand 
with sticks. I think everybody was glad when they heard the note 
of warning from Mrs. Denison’s horn which told them it was time 
to scamper home and make ready for dinner. 


CHAPTER IV. 


CLEAR WEATHER AGAIN. 

T HOPE everybody has been good, 
^ and consequendy happy,” said Mrs. 
Cheston cheerfully as she met them 
at the door. 

The children looked sober, but no- 
body spoke, until Lina said in a low 
voice, “ I haven’t, mamma ; I got angry 
and I didn’t take good care of the 
children.” 

Nora had looked defiant as they 
neared the house, expecting that for once the general feeling about 
“ tale-telling ” would be overcome by Lina’s indignation, but when 
she heard something so totally different from what she had expected, 
she colored and looked uneasy, but still kept stubbornly silent. 

“We haven’t any of us been very good, mamma,” said Dick 
manfully. “We went a little ways below the stones, first of all, 
except sister — she didn’t, and I think she was real good — but we 
went because — I mean — I didn’t mean — ” and Dick stopped in 



70 


CLOVER BEACH. 


distress ; he did not wish to “tell on ” Nora, and yet he felt that the 
rest of them were not so much to blame as she. 

Mrs. Cheston did not urge him to go on : she had not studied 
her children all their lives for nothing, and Nora’s face explained 
Dick’s stumbling confession to her. “ We will go to dinner now,” 
she said gravely — “ we must not keep Mrs. Denison waiting — and 
afterward you can all come to me in my room.” 

When dinner was over the children followed their mother into 
her room, and then Nora, who had seen and enjoyed Dick’s per- 
plexity, spoke first and said : “ I made Dick and all of them — all 
the little ones, I mean — go down to the fort, which was only a little bit 
of a way below the stones, mamma; and I said the sand was quite 
dry, and you didn’t know it would be dry ; and I said if we oughtn’t 
to go, Lina ought to stop us, for you told her to take care of us.” 

“And do you think, little daughter,” said Mrs. Cheston, “that 
what Lina did or did not do made any difference about what it was 
right for you to do? You heard me tell you where you were not 
to go ; and even little Tom, who is only three years old, whispered 
to me at dinner that he was ‘ very sorry,’ without adding that you 
caused him to disobey. I am not going to punish you, although 
you have grieved me very much. I am only going to ask you not 
to go to the beach again until I can go with you, 'unless you feel 
that I can trust you not to disregard my known wishes.” 

Nora said, “Yes, mamma, I won’t,” and walked out of the room. 
The others had all said they were “ very sorry,” and held up theii 





% 



CLEATS WEATHER AGAIN. 


73 


lips for mamma’s forgiving kiss, and at last Mrs. Cheston and Lina 
were left alone together, except for little Kitty, who was sitting at 
the table absorbed in a domino-house which she was building. 

“ Will you not tell me, dear,” said Mrs. Cheston, “ how you came 
to let the children run into mischief without trying to stop them?” 

“ Mamma,” said Lina slowly, “ I can’t. It was partly my own 
fault, but — Well, yes, I suppose it was all my own fault, for I 
needn’t have — ” and Lina stopped short. 

“She couldn’t help crying, mamma,” said Kitty artlessly, “and 
I’m ever so sorry I laughed, but indeed I could not help it, either, 
the picture was so very funny ; but I do love you, sister, and I’ll try 
not to laugh again and the little girl came over to give Lina a 
hug and a kiss, and then turned contentedly to her domino-house 
again. 

Mrs. Cheston drew Lina to her and kissed her. “ You need not 
tell me, dear,” she said; “I can understand, and I don’t wonder your 
feelings were hurt ; but try to remember about the ‘thorn,’ and this 
too : ‘ Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.’ ” 

Mr. Cheston intended taking a week’s holiday in the early part 
of July, including of course the “Glorious Fourth,” and to this the 
^ children were looking eagerly forward. There was to be a clambake 
on the beach, and a day’s sailing as a special treat to the “ old- 
clothes brigade,” and, most delightful of all, an all-day picnic up the 
river, which was to be a kind of exploring expedition. 

But, to give thorough enjoyment to the carrying out of all 


74 


CLOVE/? BEACH. 


these pleasant plans, perfect peace and harmony would be neces- 
sary ; so Charlie was very glad when next morning, as they left 
the breakfast-table, Dick drew him aside and said, “I mean to run 
away when Nora draws pictures any more. If Lina is a baby to 
cry about it, I don’t think folks ought to be mean, even to babies; 
and Lina never said a word, day before yesterday, when I brought 
her my oldest blue shirt split all the whole way up the back again 
— though she’s sewed it up twice already since we’ve been here — 
but just took it and mended it as good as mamma could have 
done.” 

“ I’m glad to hear you talk like that, Dick,” said Charlie heartily. 
“ Lina isn’t a baby. Don’t you remember that last winter, when 
Tom’s apron caught fire, she was the only one who thought to 
throw the rug around him; and mamma said she saved his life: 
that doesn’t look much like being a baby. But it hurts Lina’s 
feelings when Nora sets you cubs all to laughing at her with those 
pictures; and if we ever expect to be anything like papa we 
mustn’t begin by making fun of girls.” 

“I’ll not do it any more, Charlie,” said Dick gravely, “and I 
mean to tell Lina I’m sorry — wouldn’t you?” 

“Yes, indeed I would,” answered Charlie; “and I think we 
must try to-day if we can’t coax Nora to tell her so too, and to 
promise to stop drawing those absurd pictures; for we want to 
have a first-rate time next week, and we can’t if things don’t clear 
up a little.” 


CLEAR WEATHER AGAIN. 


75 


They all went to the beach that morning, for Mrs. Cheston, 
unwilling that Nora should lose the benefit of the salt air, and 
seeing no signs of the promise, took her paper and pen and ink 
and arranged herself snugly in a nest of cloaks and shawls where 
she could see the children. It was much warmer than it had been 
the day before, but Mrs. Cheston thought it scarcely warm enough 
for the children to bathe ; however, she let them take off their 
shoes and stockings and wade, which was better . than nothing. 
They finished digging the pond while the tide was still rising, and 
had the pleasure of seeing it fill. Lina helped them kindly, and 
tried to be interested in the different ships, and to behave to them 
all, and especially to Nora, as if nothing had happened ; but 
Charlie noticed that Nora scarcely spoke to Lina at all, and that 
when she did speak it was in a very distant fashion. 

Nora soon grew tired of the pond, and, calling Dick to go with 
her, wandered along the beach with her bucket, playing at digging 
clams to sell. But she did not play very spiritedly, and Charlie, 
who was watching his chance, soon saw her sit down on a conve- 
nient little bank, with an agreeable paddling-place for her feet just 
below it. Dick went on digging, finding wonderful stones and 
shells in the sand, and Charlie joined them, stretching himself out 
on the sand by Nora’s ditch. 

“Well, Miss O’Neal,” he said pleasantly, “might I ask what you 
have in your bucket forbye there?” 

“ I wish you’d not call me that,” she exclaimed pettishly. 


76 


CLOVER BEACH. 


“ Not call you ‘ my darling, sweet Nora O’Neal ’ ?” he asked, look- 
ing surprised. “ Certainly not, if you are serious, but I thought 
you rather liked it.” 

“You’re just doing it to make fun of me,” she pouted, “and 1 
don’t like to be made fun of.” 

“ Oh-h-h !” said Dick with a great deal of expression, and he 
gave a long whistle, for which Charlie shook his head at him. 

“You needn’t go that way, Dick,” said Nora sharply. “I don’t 
know what you mean.” 

“It’s a free country, I believe,” said Dick composedly: “fellows 
can whistle if they want to — out of doors, anyhow.” 

“Yes, but suppose some other fellow doesn’t like it?” said 
Charlie, 

“ Then he can go away,” replied Dick. 

“ But it isn’t always convenient to go away,” pursued Charlie — 
“ when people happen to be living in the same house, for 
instance.” 

“Well, then,” said Dick — and Charlie saw that his eyes were 
twinkling mischievously — “ I suppose a fellow mustn’t whistle, even 
if he has a right to, unless he’s going to let other fellows whistle all 
they please too ?” 

“That’s about it,” said Charlie, “and very neatly put. — Nora 
dear,” he went on, “I don’t know what that picture was, but I think 
it must have been something very unkind to make Lina cry so and 
forget mamma’s charge; and it seems to me it would be only fall 


CLEAR WEATHER AGAIN. 


77 


to Lina for you to tell mamma about it, unless you have done so 
already, for you may be quite sure Lina did not tell. And then — 
I don’t mean to lecture you, dear, but we have all been looking 
forward to next week, you know, and don’t you think you will enjoy 
it more if you tell mamma all about this, and then ask Lina’s 
pardon ?” 

“Now, you needn’t go on like that. Sub,” said Nora stubbornly. 
“ Mamma knows I draw pictures, for she saw the one of Lina fall- 
ing out of the boat, and she laughed ; and if I told Lina I was sorry 
she’d just give a sort of resigned-till-the-next-time sort of look ; 
you know she would.” 

“ I hope you will think differently before to-morrow, dear,” said 
Charlie, but he said nothing more, for he saw that the obstinate fit 
was not yet over. 

That afternoon, as Lina sat on the piazza sketching, Kitty came 
running to her, cuddling in her hands a little yellow duck. “Oh, 
look, sister! look what Aunty Denison gave me!” she cried eagerly. 
“ Its mother is dead, and all its little brothers and sisters, and she 
says I may have it for my very own ; and won’t you help me feed 
it?” 

Lina’s struggle with herself was so brief that Kitty did not 
suspect it. Then she turned from her drawing and took the 
orphan in her lap. 

“ What would you give it to eat ?” asked Kitty gravely. 

“ You might soak a little bread,” said Lina with equal gravity ; and 


78 


CLOVER BEACH. 


she repressed a smile when Kitty came triumphantly back from a 
foraging-expedition with a large slice of bread swimming in a 
finger-bowl of water, and handed Lina a silver spoon. The little 
duck did not seem to mind the finger-bowl at all, and he ate out 
of the silver spoon as if he had been born with one in his mouth, 
until Lina said she was really afraid to give him any more. 

“Yes, he might burst, you know, he’s so very little,” said 'Kitty 
anxiously, “ and I’m sure I don’t see where he’s put all that bread, 
for it was ’most as big as he was. Sister,” she continued, with the 
utter want of connection for which she was distinguished, and which 
had earned her, among the older ones, the title of “ Mrs. Nickleby,” 
“ what did Nora mean by a ‘ till-the-next-time sort of look ’ ?” 

“ I don’t know, dear,” said Lina absently. She was thinking of 
her drawing and did not notice the words ; but after Kitty had gone 
to put her orphan to bed the words came back to Lina, and she did 
know. Yes, that had always been her feeling when Nora had 
begged her pardon, and she Began to look at things from Nora’s 
point of view. The more she looked, the less she liked the picture, 
and she had almost come to the conclusion that it was she who 
owed Nora an apology, when her troubled thoughts were most 
pleasantly interrupted. Her dearest school-friend, whom she had 
imagined miles away, walked into the yard as naturally as if there 
were a next door and she were living in it, and, after the rapturous 
meeting was over, told Lina that she had come with her mother the 
day before to a boarding-house not a mile away. 




1 


,! 




CLEAR WEATHER AGAIN. 


8i 


“I begged mamma,” said Nelly, “so hard that she gave up 
going to Newport, and came here instead; wasn’t it good of her? 
And do you think Mrs. Denison would give us a room at the 
farm-house? Just one room would do, for I always sleep with 
mamma ; and she’s coming this afternoon to see.” 

Mrs. Heath, Nelly’s mother, was a widow, and Nelly was her 
only child. She had long been an intimate friend of Mrs. 
Cheston, and the friendship between Nelly and Lina was en- 
tirely approved by both mothers. Nelly’s happy, confiding 
disposition had a very good effect upon Lina, who was inclined 
to be despondent as 'well as dreamy, and Lina’s love of study 
and reading often influenced Nelly, who did not care much for 
either. 

The little girls talked happily together for a while, and then 
Lina could not help pouring out her troubles to Nelly, who 
listened sympathizingly, but told Lina candidly that she thought 
Nora had some little cause for being so provoking. 

“ I must go now,” said Nelly at last, rising from the sofa in the 
little parlor, where Lina had taken her for a comfortable “talk.” 
“ But, Lina, I’m going to tell you mamma’s secret : she told it 
to me one day when I asked her how she always knew just the 
nicest things to say and do to everybody and, sitting down again 
for a moment, Nelly drew Lina’s face close to hers and whispered, 
'' ' Put yourself in his place;'" and then ran away before Lina 
could answer her. 


6 


82 


CLOVER BEACH. 


The few words “ fitly spoken ” decided Lina. She walked 
down to the river-bank after dinner, knowing that Nora was 
making a sketch there, and waited for her to come. She had not 
long to wait. Nora, who had left her sketching materials on the 
bank when the dinner-bell rang, came slowly down the path. 
She was pulling the petals from a daisy, saying as she pulled 
them, “I will, I won’t — I will, I won’t,” and did not see Lina until 
she almost fell over her. She too had been thinking. Charlie 
had more influence over her than he knew, and, after her usual 
whimsical fashion, she decided to leave it to the daisy, which 
fortunately ended with “I will ’’just as she stumbled upon Lina. 
Without wasting time she caught Lina round the neck, exclaiming, 
“I beg your pardon, Lina — there!” 

“ Oh, you didn’t hurt me, dear,” said Lina pleasantly, thinking 
the apology was for the stumble, and rather wondering at Nora’s 
politeness. 

Nora began to laugh. “You’re just like the Looking-glass 
King,” she said, “when Alice said, T beg your pardon?’ be- 
cause she didn’t hear, and he said, T’m not offended.’ What I 
meant was, I beg your pardon about the pictures. I know I was 
mean, but if you’ll forgive me really and truly. I’ll never make 
another picture about you — at least not a making-fun-of-you pic- 
ture — as long as I live.” 

Lina returned Nora’s hug heartily. “Why, / was just going to 
beg your pardon !” she said. “ I forgave you long ago, and I’v 










ShMhhW § 


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WSUMinmlm 


“PUT YOURSELF LN HIS PLACE." 


Sec Page 8i. 







CLEAR WEATHER AGAIN. 


85 


been thinking that perhaps I’ve ‘ aggravated ’ you nearly as much 
as you have me. But I’m very glad you’ve promised about the 
pictures, dear. I almost felt as if you must hate me or you 
wouldn’t behave so.” 

“No, I didn’t ever hate you,” answered Nora, balancing herself 
on Lina’s knee, “ but you see, Lina, you always act as if Dick and 
I were so very little, instead of being the next to the oldest. And 
I didn’t really think how mean it was to draw those pictures till 
Sub said something yesterday — What did he know about it, 
anyhow, Lina ?” 

“ He only knew I was angry with you about one of your pic- 
tures,” answered Lina, “but he didn’t see it, for I rubbed it right 
out.” 

“I ’most wish he had seen it,” said Nora, a little regretfully: “I 
think it was the best I ever did, and he would have laughed — he 
couldn’t have helped himself. But I really do mean to try to do 
better, and if you’ll only just not talk down to me quite so much, 
Lina — You know I’m ’most eleven, and somehow, when you do 
it, I always want to provoke you ; and I generally do,” she added 
meditatively. 

“ I know I have been cross,” said Lina, “ and I dare say you and 
Dick could have helped me with the others if I hadn’t snubbed you 
so; but I’ll try to realize your age in future, ma’am, and you must 
try to make allowance for my youth.” 

Then they both laughed and kissed each other very heartily, and 


86 


CLOVER BEACH. 


Nora said earnestly, “There was something- else I wanted to say, 
Lina. I mean to help you with the mending, and make the beds 
too.” 

“Oh no, dear; that wouldn’t be fair. You know I offered to take 
your share of the mending if you’d make both beds, for I do hate 
making beds worse than anything.” 

“ Yes, but I don’t mind it at all, it’s such fun to shake up the pillows ; 
and I think one reason mamma wanted me to help you was that I 
might learn ; so I’m going to do mine and Baby’s after this, if you’ll 
show me how to put the patches and things.” 

“That’s very good of you, dear,” said Lina, kissing her again, 
and not mentioning that of all the mending she disliked Baby’s 
least; it was almost like making dolls’ clothes. 

They walked back arm in arm, carrying the sketching-things 
between them. Mrs. Cheston was on the piazza, and Nora marched 
up to her, still holding Lina’s arm. Polly was standing on a chair 
under the trees, reaching up for her shuttlecock, which had caught 
among the branches, and Lina thought her presence would silence 
Nora, who had a great dislike to being reproved or owning herself 
in the wrong before “ the children ;” but Nora was thoroughly in 
earnest this time, and no number of children would have stopped 
her. “ Mamma,” she said, “ I ought to have told you before what 
ailed Lina to let us go out there. I drew a picture she didn’t like — 
and I don’t wonder she didn’t ;” and Nora laughed a little at the 
recollection of the picture — “ and that made her cry and get angry 



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CLEAR WEATHER AGAIN. 


89 


and not look at us ; but I’m not going to draw any more of that 
kind, and you can trust me at the beach now without you. Lina 
has forgiven me ; so will you please forgive me too, mamma ?” 

Nobody ever had to ask this question twice for the same offence, 
and in this family forgiving meant forgetting; so Mr. Cheston, who 
came up the step just then, having pulled Polly and the shuttlecock 
out of the tree in passing, met such a warm and joyful welcome 
that he said he thought he must have fallen asleep and stayed away 
a year instead of a day ; and it was a very festive tea-drinking that 
followed, for everybody had something so excellent to suggest 
about the arrangements for the coming week that Mrs. Denison 
came over to the cottage after tea to see what was the matter, 
saying that it sounded at her house like a “treeful of blackbirds.” 



CHAPTER V. 


A FESTIVAL WEEK. 

RS. DENISON had allowed herself to 
be persuaded to take Mrs. Heath and 
her little daughter into the farm-house, 
and all the children rejoiced over 
adding Nelly to their number, for 
she was a general favorite, and it 
was considered especially fortunate 
that she had arrived just in time 
for the festivities which were to be 
crowded into Mr. Cheston’s holiday 
week. He preferred taking the other three weeks of his holiday 
late in the fall, that so he might “ feel the good of it ” through the 
winter. After a great deal of discussing the order of things was 
finally settled. Everybody agreed upon keeping the best for 
the last, and, which was much more strange, had the same views 
as to what was the best. The programme had been settled upon 
weeks before, all but the order of events. There was to be the 
clambake and the sail and the picnic. The sail was a very good 



A FESTIVAL WEEK. 


91 


thing — for those who liked sailing; but Mrs. Cheston and Mrs. 
Heath both said they were “ free to confess ” that they would 
rather be excused, and Nora said if she must hang upside down 
and hold on, she would rather do it on dry land than on the water. 
The very little ones could not go, of course. So the sailing-party 
was arranged for Monday, because Mr. Denison had announced 
that the great meadow near the house was to be mowed that day, 
and the younger children were quite consoled for losing the sail 
by the prospect of a day’s haying, for the farmer told them that 
he should want all the help he could get. 

The clambake was to take place on Wednesday, and the picnic 
on Friday. This arrangement would give people a chance to rest 
between the entertainments and before Sunday, and would also 
leave a margin in case of rainy days. 

So it was a very happy and hopeful colony which fell asleep on 
Saturday night under Farmer Denison’s two roofs, and Mr. and 
Mrs. Cheston reaped the benefit of their loving interest in, and 
sympathy with, the children’s plans all Sunday, for everything was 
so fully arranged and settled that the little people entered heartily 
into the Sunday services and the school, which were always held in 
the great barn. Week-day school was over ; there was a happy 
feeling of well-earned repose that Sunday morning, and Mrs. 
Denison, sitting in her large arm-chair by the parlor-window, 
resting from her manifold labors, listened with a pleased smile as 
“ Onward, Christian Soldier !” rang up to the rafters, and echoed 


92 


CLOVER BEACH. 


back again. Lina and Nora, holding the same hymn-book, ex- 
changed loving glances as they sang, each with a thankful 
feeling that they had “made up” when they had. 

Monday morning brought with it weather as brilliantly clear as 
die most exacting heart could desire, and the sailing-party went 
off amid a volley of cheers, partly their own and partly the gen- 
erous offering of the stay-at-homes, who were quite as glad to 
stay as the others were to go ; for Mrs. Denison, to their great 
delight, had told them that in consideration of the “busy day” she 
was going to have, she would be very much obliged to them 
indeed if they would put up with a cold dinner, and save her and 
Martha the trouble of setting tables by eating it under the trees 
that bordered the hay-field. This struck them as being so truly 
delightful that there was a great exchanging of wasted pity at 
the pier as the haymakers saw the sailors off 

Mr. Cheston, Lina, Nelly Heath, Charlie, Dick, and Kitty com- 
posed the sailing-party. Kitty had shown such a pitiful face at 
the suggestion that she belonged to the hay-party, and had 
promised so solemnly to sit perfectly still and mind every word 
papa said, that Lina had gained a real victory over herself, before 
anybody but her mother had noticed that there was a struggle, 
and had promised to “go security” for Kitty for the day. How 
the blue water sparkled and danced as the boat put off! There 
was a fine breeze, and Mr. Denison said he didn’t mind having 
his hay blown about a little when he saw that sail fill. 









A FESTIVAL WEEK. 


95 


Martha Denison, who was a great friend of the children, brought 
her mending-basket out to a shady corner of the hay-field when 
her morning work in the house was “done up;” and Rob, after 
burying Polly and being buried himself until he was too warm and 
tired to play any more, lay down at Martha’s feet on a cushion of 
sweet hay, with Polly beside him, and coaxed so flatteringly for “a 
story ” that Martha gracefully yielded, 

“I’ll tell you a story that my Uncle Joe used to tell me,” said 
Martha, “ and then you can see if you can guess who it was about. 
I made Uncle Joe tell me it so many times that I can say it off like 
a lesson.” 

And she told Uncle Joe’s story in his own words: 

The spring mother had her long illness Betty and I were stand- 
ing by her chair one evening when she was beginning to get well, 
and Betty took hold of her hand and noticed how loose her rings 
hung on it. One was her wedding-ring, and the other was an old 
chased ring she had worn ever since we could remember ; and in 
case you don’t know about that sort of chasing quite so well as 
about the chasing in “I Spy,” and “ Prisoner’s Base,” I will just tell 
you that it had a curious pattern of flowers and leaves deeply 
sc7'atched on it — so deeply that the wear and rubbing of seventy 
or eighty years had not smoothed it. Think of that, and of how 
you are scratching habits on your mind and heart every day ! 

“Yes,” said mother, “it was your great-grandma’s ring, and then 


96 


CLOVER BEACH. 


it was your grandma’s, and now it’s mine ; and it will be yours some 
day, Betty, if I don’t lose it first.” 

“I don’t want it, mother, not a bit,” said Betty — “at least, not 
that way — but it’s ever so pretty, isn’t it, Joe ?” and she handed 
the ring to me to let me see it. 

“Suppose,” said mother, “that the man who made that had 
scratched snakes and things on it, instead of flowers and leaves?” 

“ That would have been very horrid of him,” said Betty, “ to 
make ugly things when he had the beautiful gold and the tools, 
and could make pretty things just as well as not; besides, I don’t 
believe anybody would have wanted it, except just for the gold, 
then.” 

“ And yet,” said mother, “ when folks have no more sense than 
to let ugly tempers and bad habits mark them all up they don’t seem 
to think that the only sort of love they’ll get will be because they’re 
somebody’s child or sister or brother, and that even the dear Lord, 
instead of loving them with the special love He keeps for His 
obedient children, can only love them because they are sinners and 
He died for them.” 

Betty didn’t say anything, but I had a great fancy for wood- 
carving just then, and I said I’d be very careful only to carve pretty 
things. Father had just come in, and he said he’d believe that when 
he saw me finish one thing before I began another. I didn’t like 
that much — there was too much truth in it — and I dragged Betty 
off to play. Father used to say he thought Betty must have the 


A FESTIVAL WEEK. 


97 


will that was intended for both of us ; she always knew what she. 
meant to do, and it took a good deal to keep her from doing it, but 
I was so full of grand plans and intentions that somehow very few 
of them came to anything. 

A few days after the talk about the ring, as we were sitting at the 
dinner-table, Betty said suddenly, “Why, mother, where’s your 
ring ?” 

Mother looked down at her hand : the old chased ring was gone ! 
She was puzzled at first to think how it could have slipped off 
without her noticing it, and then she said, “ There ! I as good as 
know where it is, but I doubt if I ever see it again. I was loosen- 
ing up the straw in my under-bed this morning, and it was so flat I 
concluded it was about time it was fresh filled ; and your father and 
Jake took it right out to the barn and filled it for me. You know 
the ring has been loose ever since I was ill, and I haven’t a doubt I 
rubbed it off into that straw. — Could you show me where you 
threw it, father ?” 

“ Why, yes,” said father ; “ we shook it out in a clean corner of the 
barnyard, right by the wall, but it would take you all day and all 
night to sort over that great bedful of straw, and you don’t look 
quite rosy enough to suit me yet. I can’t have you making your- 
self ill again for all the rings in Christendom.” 

“Let us look, mother,” said Betty eagerly. “To-morrow is 
Saturday, and we’ll find it if it takes all day — won’t we, Joe?” 

“Well, we’ll try,” I said, not quite so eagerly; “but just think, 
7 


CLOVER BEACH. 


Betty, all that straw, and such a little thing as a ring ! It’s ’most 
like the needle in the haystack.” 

“ Suppose it is ?” said Betty. Anybody who was in real down 
earnest could find a needle in a haystack if they went to work the 
right way; and you’ll see we’ll find that ring if you’ll just go to 
work with me the way I show you.” 

Betty was a little too fond of “ showing ” and giving directions 
to suit me, so I said, not very pleasantly, “ I’ll help you look, but 
you seem to forget I’m two years older than you are. I don’t need 
to be told how to do everything.” 

“There’s something you both need to be told,” said mother 
briskly ; “ and that is, that if you are going to quarrel over this 
piece of work neither of you shall touch it. A temper is a worse 
thing to lose than a ring.” 

“ I oughtn’t to have spoken that way, Joe; I’m sorry,” said Betty, 
after a minute’s struggle with herself; she was an honest little 
thing. 

“ I suppose I oughtn’t, either,” I said, ; “ so we’ll call it square. 
But you ought to be President, Bet ; there’s a mistake some- 
where.” 

“ Maybe I shall be one of these days ; there’s no telling ;” and 
Betty nodded her head wisely. 

“ Somebody said once that it was better to be right than to be 
President,” said father, “so we’ll all run for that.” 

We began at the straw right after breakfast the next day. Betty 


A FESTIVAL WEEK. 


99 


didn’t want me to think her too presidential, I suppose, so she said 
nothing more about her plan, but quietly carried it out. She sepa- 
rated a small bunch of straw from the rest, and then, with an old 
brass stair-rod which she had brought from the garret, she carefully 
picked away a little of the loose straw at a time, very much as if 
she were playing jack-straws. I was poking about with both 
hands at once, and feeling a little injured at having to work on 
a holiday. 

“What’s that for?” I said. 

“ So’s to make a noise if it hits the ring,” said Betty, a little 
grandly, I thought. “ You know my fingers wouldn’t sound if they 
struck it ever so hard, and when I have been feeling a while they’ll be 
so rough I won’t know straw from ring. I’ll get you one if you 
like ; there’s more of ’em up garret.” 

“ No, thank you,” I said ; and I was even grander than she’d been. 
“ I think I should know if I found the ring, without a brass rod to 
tell me.” 

Betty made no answer, but worked industriously on. When a 
small bundle had been thoroughly picked over she would carry it 
quite away from the heap ; and this pile of sorted straw began to 
look encouraging. She paid no more attention to me, and directly 
I saw she was taking her little sheaves from where I had been 
poking. It was a warm day, and I wasn’t in the best of humors ; so 
I said crossly, “ If you’re going to go over all I do there’s no use in 
my fooling the whole day away, like this. I looked through that 


LVC. 


lOO 


CLOVER BEACH. 


very bunch you’ve just taken, and you’ll be all night if you keep on 
that way.” 

Betty made no answer, and I got up and marched away in a 
huff. She worked on till dinner-time ; then after dinner, and a 
half hour’s rest that mother made her take, she went back. I was 
gone, and so was my fishing-rod. Only a few armfuls of straw 
were left, and Betty’s arms must have been tired enough, when 
she heard something clink ; there was a bright gleam through the 
straw, and there was the ring ! Betty rushed into the house with 
a shout of joy and put the ring on mother’s finger. 

“You’ve earned it, my dear,” said mother, giving her a hearty 
kiss, “and just as soon as your finger grows big enough to hold 
it you shall have it; but you’ve gained something better than 
rings, I trust. With God’s help and a good will there’s few things 
in reason that can’t be done.” 

The three very small fish I brought home at tea-time didn’t give 
me any great satisfaction, and after tea, as we sat on the porch in 
the twilight, I whispered to mother, “I should think you’d be 
ashamed of me, mother, and wish Bet was the boy ; but I’m going 
to let that old ring keep me in mind, and I’ll be much obliged to 
you if you will just hold up the finger that has it on when you 
catch me shirking again.” 

“ There’s something that will do you more good than the ring, 
my boy,” said mother, stroking my head kindly. “When you 
say ‘ Lead us not into temptation ’ every morning, just think what 


A FESTIVAL WEEK. 


lOI 


your temptation is, and don’t walk into it after praying not to be 
led into it.” 

I hope and trust I took a fresh start from that day, and when I 
fell back a little, as I often did, the old ring did remind me many 
a time, and the sight of it helped mother’s words to take root. 

“And now,” said Martha, dropping her uncle Joe and speaking 
in her own proper person again, “can you guess who Betty is?” 

Martha’s audience had increased since she began her story. 
First, little Tom had crept 'up, and at a warning “ Hush-sh-sh !” 
from Polly had dropped on a pile of hay and gone peacefully to 
sleep, waking only as the story ended ; then Nora had sauntered 
by, and stopped at the sound of Martha’s voice; and, lastly, Mrs. 
Denison, coming out with some of the dinner-ai'rangements, had 
waited, smiling, for Martha to finish. 

“It was Mrs. Denison: see how she’s blushing !” shouted Rob; 
and then everybody laughed and jumped up to help spread the 
cloth and put the “cold victuals” on it. 

The children’s mothers told Mrs. Denison it was a good thing 
she did not give them their dinners out of doors every day — they 
would “eat her out of house and home.” Rob ate six large 
biscuits by “actual count,” not to mention meat and milk and 
sponge-cake and a few other trifles, and everybody said they 
were sure things were different from the every-day dinners. 

When at last this ravenous community was satisfied, the mothers 


102 


CLOVER BEACH. 


said the least they could do was to clear up after themselves, so 
there was a grand dish-washing, presided over by good-natured 
Martha, and then a procession to carry the things back to the 
house. 

Then Nora retired to a sheltered corner and sketched the hay- 
field and tried to write a poem. She got as far as 


“ Over the hill the farmer’s boy goes,” 


and then racked her brain for a rhyme which should also have a 
meaning. 

She tried “ toes ” and “nose” and “rose,” and they all rhymed 
beautifully, but she could not think of any connection between 
his toes or his nose or a rose and haymaking — the poem was to 
be about haymaking — except that a rose-cold was sometimes 
called a hay-cold, and that was not at all poetical. While she was 
engaged with this absorbing puzzle she fell fast asleep, and had a 
lovely nap, from which she was wakened by Polly tickling her 
(Nora’s) nose with one of the wild roses which Rob and Polly 
had been gathering while the poet slumbered ; it was a very 
curious coincidence, Nora thought, and she triumphantly added 
the second line to her poem : 

" Tickling his nose with a newly-blown rose.” 

The two together sounded so well that she couldn’t help telling 
them to Rob and Polly, who admired the couplet greatly, and made 



rob and POLLY GATHERING WILD ROSES 



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A FESTIVAL WEEK. 


105 


her repeat it two or three times. She was trying to work out a 
second rhyme when a call for volunteers to help make ready for 
the early supper cut her short, and she decided to wait until the 
next day before completing her poem. The supper, by special 
request, was to be spread where the dinner had been, and if any- 
thing could have been more surprising than the way that dinner 
disappeared, it was the fact that every one was as hungry for supper 
as if the dinner had been a dream. 

Meanwhile, the sailing-party were having a very gay time indeed. 
The fresh wind whisked them up the river at such a rate that they 
reached the island where they were to dine entirely too soon, and 
were really obliged to keep on for a mile or two and then come 
“tacking” back. Mr. Cheston managed the sails, and Charlie 
distinguished himself as steersman. Kitty was the only other 
distinguished member of the party. She was a little bit frightened, 
although she would not for the world have acknowledged it ; but the 
waves were really quite high — delightfully high, the rest of the 
children thought — and as the little boat heeled with the wind, the 
children fancied they knew just how flies felt when they walked 
upside-down on the ceiling. 

Kitty had been put in the bow of the boat, with a strict injunction 
to “ sit perfectly still,” and she had an idea that the general safety 
depended a good deal upon her obedience to orders ; so, when an 
unusually frolicsome little wave leaped up to break over the bow, 
although everybody but papa — whose head was turned the other 


o6 


CLOVER BEACH. 


way — screamed “ Dodge, Kitty, dodge !” Kitty sat perfectly still, 
and the wave struck her curly head with a precision that did it 
credit. They wiped her off as well as they could, consoling her 
with the assurance that salt water didn’t give people cold, and papa 
compared her to the immortal “ boy ” who “ stood on the burning 
deck,'^ and then was obliged to recite the whole poem because Kitty 
had never even heard of the boy. 

“ I don’t think I was quite that brave,” said Kitty modestly, “ for 
it doesn’t hurt to get wet, but it must hurt dreadfully to ‘in frag- 
ments strew the sea.’ Oh, I wonder if every fragment hurt all at 
once, papa?” and her lip quivered so pitifully that papa hastened 
to assure her that the poor “ boy” had ceased to feel anything long 
before he was in fragments ; and in the interest of landing, and 
building a fire, and putting the potatoes to roast, and dressing the 
salad, and finding the spring, and making the lemonade — at all of 
which enterprises Kitty assisted more or less — the luckless boy was 
soon forgotten. 

It seemed to these hungry sailors that potatoes required a great 
deal of roasting, but they were done at last, and so was the little 
pot of coffee which Lina had been carefully making for her father, 
and which, he told her, “ did equal credit to her head and heart.” 
There was plenty of milk for the rest of the party, and lemonade 
for those who did not like milk, and for those that did too, for that 
matter ; and when Mr. Cheston mildly suggested that two glasses 
of lemonade after three or four of milk might necessitate a third 


A FESTIVAL WEEK. 


107 


course composed of ginger and peppermint, he was assured in 
chorus, “ Oh, not at a picnic, papa ! Folks can eat anything when 
they’re out of doors, you know.” 

Papa looked doubtful, but as nobody called for the third course, 
it is probable nobody wanted it. 

The island was found to be Inhabited. Lina, wandering about 
trying to fix upon the prettiest point for a sketch, surprised a 
little rabbit family, and she stood still so instantly, and concealed 
herself so skilfully, that the pretty creatures, unaware of her 
presence, went on with their graceful gambols, and she took 
their likeness with trembling haste and the usual dissatisfied feel- 
ing that she was not doing them justice. Other inhabitants were 
found — a family of tiny squirrels and a nest of dreadful-looking little 
birds without any feathers worth mentioning ; indeed, these looked 
so uncomfortably bare, and clamored so for the worms with which 
their distracted parents were trying to satisfy them, that Kitty 
said she knew somebody had skinned them. 

Many wonderful and beautiful things, in the way of moss and 
wild flowers and pebbles, were also discovered, until Mr. Cheston 
said they would be obliged to swim home if the boat’s cargo were 
further increased. Kitty insisted upon washing out one of the 
numerous empty milk-bottles and filling it with water from the 
spring “ for mamma,” because that water was so very much 
better than any at the farm, and no amount of laughter from the 
children shook her purpose. 


o8 


CLOVER BEACH. 


But the loveliest thing of all was making the fire up again and 
boiling the kettle — a real tea-kettle, from the farm-house kitchen — 
for the early tea, which was to fortify them for the exertion of 
sailing home. To be sure, nobody but papa drank “real tea,” 
but everybody knows that to make cambric tea properly one 
must have boiling water. How extremely^ gypsy-like they all 
felt, standing round the blazing fire waiting for the kettle to boil ! 
They wished they could live this way always, and fairly jumped 
for joy when Mr. Cheston said that possibly, perhaps, if it were 
not too cold, and mamma would permit it, they might camp out 
for a night or two on the island during his three weeks’ va- 
cation. 

When supper was over the dishes were carefully washed and 
packed by so many willing hands that the work seemed light 
indeed, for the Cheston boys had no fear of compromising their 
dignity with “woman’s work;” what dignity they had was of the 
sort that would have felt itself wounded had they sat idle while 
mother or sisters were doing work of any sort which their help 
could lighten. 

Then came the lovely sail home. The swift current of the 
river seemed running under a sheet of glass. The light from 
the sunset sky shone with an added brightness from the water. 
Mr. Cheston began singing the “Canadian Boat-song;” one by 
one the children joined in, and as they finished, and were all 
feeling very poetical and dreamy and musical, Kitty said with a 





4 

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j 


A FESTIVAL WEEK. 


Ill 


deep sigh, “ Oh, if mamma were only here ! That wouldn’t have 
frightened her a bit;” which heartfelt compliment to their singing 
raised a shout of laughter — it does not take much to do that 
when people are happy — and Kitty, indignant at being mis- 
understood, exclaimed as soon as she could be heard, “I don’t see 
what you are all laughing at.” 

But Kitty was a forgiving little person, and used to being laughed 
at besides ; so no harm was done, and they sang themselves all the 
way home in the lovely summer twilight, and found an admiring 
audience waiting for them at the pier. As the haymaking 
and the sailing-parties were walking slowly home, telling each 
other all about everything and pitying each other a little for 
having missed such a good time, Kitty, who was in advance, 
suddenly stopped short with a delighted little “ Oh !” Every- 
body else stopped too, and looked for the obstruction. It was 
so small that they all looked over it at first, and then they all 
laughed, for a tiny gray-and-white kitten confronted them with a 
look of fierce determination which was funnily out of proportion to 
its size. It had been stopped short in the chase of a pretty moth — 
which wisely took advantage of the diversion to escape — and was 
justly indignant. Kitty claimed it on the ground of discovery, and 
when her mother suggested that perhaps Mrs. Denison might 
object to any addition to the menagerie, Kitty said gravely, “I 
heard papa say, ‘What cat’s averse to fish?’ mamma, when he 
caught Polly’s kitten trying to steal the clam-fritters ; and I shall 


112 


CLOVER BEACH. 


just dig clams for this lovely — Oh ! oh ! somebody has cut her 
tail off!” 

Kitty’s howl was so sudden and startling that for a moment they 
thought an ambushed enemy had suddenly sprung out upon her 
and committed this dire deed ; but as the kitten, having discovered 
that it was among friends, was purring loudly, they were completely 
puzzled, until, reaching the farm-house door, they saw in the light 
which streamed out that this imposing-looking kitten — when you 
saw her “ head on ” — had indeed only the merest apology for a 
tail — a little stub which looked as if she had borrowed it from a 
rabbit. 

Mrs. Denison laughed heartily when she heard Kitty’s lamenta- 
tion. “ My dear,” she said, “ it’s one of that Manx cat’s family. A 
Manx cat came ashore on a shipwrecked vessel down at our beach 
a good many years ago, and her descendants are all about the 
neighborhood. Some of them have these little rabbit-tails, like the 
first one, and some have tails two or three inches long, but they all 
have those great long hind legs like rabbits, and people think 
they’re more sensible than common cats. The folks that come to 
board around here in summer often take them home, but not as 
often as they’d like to, for the race is dying out, and the owners 
don’t always care to part with them.” 

“Then I suppose this sweet little rabbit-kitty belongs to some- 
body?” said Kitty, rather dolefully and hugging her treasure tight. 

“I think I know where she strayed from,” answered Mrs. Deni- 


A FESTIVAL WEEK. 


II3 


son. “ But don’t you worr^', my dear : the old lady’s a friend of 
mine — her owner, I mean, not her mother — and there’s several 
more of ’em — of the kittens, that is — and I think I can get this one 
for you without any trouble.” 

So, very tired, but blissfully happy, Kitty arranged a bed for 

little Manx, and then went to her own — an example which the rest 

of the family were not long in following. 

8 



CHAPTER VI. 


THE CLAMBAKE. 



GENERAL disposition to lie on 
hay -cushions and do nothing 
particular was manifested by the 
sailors next day, and the people 
who had not sailed must have 
been very easily influenced, for, 
after a virtuous effort to sew and 
write and read, they gradually 
subsided into idleness. Martha, 
whose hearty sympathy with all 
their plans generally took some 
active and tangible form, had 
insisted upon taking the entire charge of the mending that week, 
declaring that she really wanted some sewing, and that it would 
be too bad for them to have to sew when Mr. Cheston was only 
there for a week. The kind-hearted girl was so entirely in 
earnest about it that she carried her point, and both Mrs. Ches- 
ton and Lina enjoyed this holiday week to the full. 

114 


THE CLAMBAKE. 


II5 


Mrs. Denison declared that she must not be interfered with 
in her arrangements for the clambake. She and Mr. Denison 
had promised to come down to the beach in time to join the 
party at supper, and Martha was to be with them all the after- 
noon, having undertaken to superintend the baking. That all 
the baking was not to be done to the clams was made evident by 
the savory odors which flew from time to time across the hay- 
field from the farm-house kitchen ; but Mrs. Denison merely 
replied to the various complimentary remarks which ended with 
an interrogation-point with which she was assailed when they 
came to the farm-house at tea-time, by saying that she’d been 
baking them a gingerbread loaf, and there it was ! 

The gingerbread, or something, proved so refreshing that after 
tea they all strolled down to the beach and settled themselves 
comfortably upon shawls spread on the sand, for it had been a 
warm day and the coolness of the sea-breeze was very refreshing. 
It was still broad daylight, for the days were only a little past the 
longest, and tea was always ready punctually at six o’clock, which 
left them a good long evening. 

Kitty, who had been sitting thoughtfully silent, suddenly ex- 
claimed, “ Papa, how did the very first Manx cat lose his tail ?” 

“ I don’t know ‘ exactually,’ as the White Queen says. Pussy,” 
said papa, “but, if you like, I can imagine a way, and you can 
pretend it is true.” 

“That will do just as well, thank you, papa,” said Kitty con- 


CLOVER BEACH. 


1 16 


tentedly — “better, for I like your ‘imagines’ more than I do real 
things, and I think Manx will like to hear it too.” 

Whereupon it was discovered that Kitty had her new treasure 
tucked under her shawl. 

“ I brought her down to see the ocean,” explained Kitty ; “ I 
want her to remember it after we go home, so that I can talk to 
her about it.” 

“/ want Nora to make me a picture for my story,” said Mr. 
Cheston. — “Come, Miss O’Neil, a little way off here, where they 
can’t see you drawing, and we’ll burst it upon them, as it were; 
it is a picture which must be made to order.” 

Mr. Cheston knew, of course, all about the little picture-diffi- 
culty between Nora and Lina, and he knew that to any one with 
Nora’s keen sense of fun and aptitude for expressing it in pictures 
the promise she had made involved no little self-denial. The 
small artist was fully as much gratified with his request as he 
thought she would be, and sprang up joyfully to comply with it. 

A sharp stick was found, consultation and drawing went rapidly 
on, and when Nora finished with a triumphant “There!” Mr 
Cheston called the audience up to admire, and began the story. 
It was a rough sketch, of course, done in the sand with a sharp 
stick, but it was full of spirit, and the audience applauded heart- 
ily. The animals, of which there were five, needed no labels to 
be recognized as four little foxes and a large cat. One of the 
foxes had the cat’s tail in a vicious grip, and the poor cat’s mouth 


filgS' 







































‘‘ONE OF THE FOXES HAD THE CAT'S TAIL IN HIS GRIP.' 


See Page ii6. 










r 


THE CLAMBAKE. 


II9 


was open, evidently for the purpose of giving an agonized “ Me- 
ow !” The other three little foxes were looking serenely on, and 
in front of the cat stood a generously large dish of broken 
victuals. 

The audience, having complied with a polite request to move 
their shawls and themselves to within seeing distance of the picture, 
were respectfully silent while the narrator proceeded with the follow- 
ing story : 

“ A sailor who had a remarkable fondness for animals, and who 
lived so many years ago that nothing more is known about him, 
owned a very large and handsome black cat which was petted and 
played with by every one on board the ship. You may object that 
the cat in the illustration is not black, but if you consider this a real 
objection and will remain here until after dark, you will find that it 
is entirely so. This sailor discovered a family of little foxes on one 
of the islands at which his vessel touched, and being, as I remarked, 
fond of animals, and being fortunate enough to call when the old 
foxes happened to be from home, he gathered up the interesting 
family, none of whom was over a foot long, and brought them with 
him to the ship. The cat felt so entirely secure in his position on 
board the ship that he smiled tolerantly on the pretty little animals 
and treated them with great politeness, even enticing them into the 
small room in which he was always fed, and offering, so soon as 
they should feel a desire for anything besides milk, to share his mess 
with them. The little foxes were humble, meek, obliging creatures 


120 


CLOVER BEACH. 


apparently, but as they became familiar with the cat he often 
observed things about them which startled and annoyed him. They 
suggested to him how easily he could ‘ take ’ — they never said 
‘ steal ’ — from the pantry and the table ; they wondered he did not 
resent the good-humored teasing of the sailors, and that he did not 
dispose of his master’s parrot when it received so much more atten- 
tion than he did. If they saw that he appeared shocked by any of 
these suggestions, they hastened to add that they were ‘only in 
fun and the cat argued with himself that it did not do to be over- 
particular, that he had been lonely before the foxes came, and that 
he might enjoy their company without agreeing with their opinions 
or learning their manners and customs. His doubts as to the 
wisdom of this course of proceeding grew suddenly much greater 
when, for the first time, they accepted his courteous invitation to 
dinner. Their greediness was appalling ; they managed, by engag- 
ing him in, conversation one at a time while the others ate, to so 
nearly deprive him of his dinner that he began to reflect seriously 
about withdrawing from their society. But this he now found 
impossible. No matter to what cozy corner of the ship he retired, 
one or more of his new friends was sure to follow him with flatter- 
ing speeches which disarmed the reserve with which he tried to 
treat them. In former times he could have escaped them by climb- 
ing the rigging, but it was so long since he had attempted this that 
he found himself clumsy and timid, and had the mortification of 
falling once or twice in his efforts to rid himself of his undesirable 


THE CLAMBAKE. 


I 21 


•associates ; and, although they were outwardly full of sympathy 
and kindness over these mishaps, he somehow felt convinced that 
inwardly they were laughing at him. Matters at last came to such 
a pass that he resolved to stand upon his rights. He guarded his 
plate one day until his master filled it — for more than once of late 
he had obeyed his master’s call only to find the plate empty and his 
friends licking their chops — and then he made a speech. He 
remarked that there were limits to the privileges of friendship ; 
that those limits in his case had been reached ; that henceforth he 
must request his friends to be satisfied with the rations provided by 
their master, and to leave him to a peaceful enjoyment of his meals ; 
that he would prefer no longer giving up, or even sharing, his bed ; 
and that upon compliance with these conditions only could their 
friendship remain unbroken. The foxes listened with smiling atten- 
tion, and agreed with him in everything that he said — all but one, 
who, unperceived, had stolen behind him as he spoke, and who now, 
at a signal from the rest, seized him quickly by the tail, and despite 
his enraged howls held him firmly back from his plate, while the 
other three made quick work with his dinner. But there is a sort 
of honor even among thieves ; the three conspirators who had 
possession of the plate left a share for the watchman, and then one 
of them went to relieve guard while the other took his share. The 
cat, enraged beyond all bounds at the cool impudence with which 
the plot was being carried out, made a spring as his new tormentor 
seized him and broke loose ; but, alas ! he left his beautiful tail in 


22 


CLOVER BEACH. 


the mouth of his captor. Nothing remained but an unsightly 
stump an inch or two long. The rage and mortification of the poor 
cat were beyond expression, and he spent the rest of the voyage 
chiefly in the rigging, which he once more learned to climb, and 
whence, whenever he could catch one of his false friends alone, he 
‘ dropped on ’ him with terrible effect. This was not often, for the 
foxes’ cunning served them instead of strength, and they stuck 
together so constantly that the cat grew gloomy and morose, 
watching for chances for revenge. 

“Of course, poor Pussy’s tail never grew again, and most of his 
descendants have shared his misfortune. The exercise he took in 
the rigging lengthened and strengthened his hind legs, until they 
were both longer and stronger than those of cats usually are ; and 
this trait also is preserved in the family. The cat effected a landing 
as soon after his misfortune as was possible. The island where he 
made his escape was called ‘ the Isle of Man,’ and there, to this day, 
his descendants may be found under the name of ‘ Manx cats.’ ” 

“In my j^sofs Fables, papa,” said Kitty, “there is always a 
moral. Isn’t there any moral to this ? I think it would be a very 
nice story if it only had a moral.” 

“ I hoped,” said papa meekly, “ that the moral stuck out all over 
that story like the quills upon the fretful porcupine.” 

“ I think it did, papa,” said Lina and Charlie in a breath : the 
family often noticed that these two had a way of hitting on the 
same thought at the same time. 


THE CLAMBAKE. 


23 


“ I am glad somebody appreciated me,” exclaimed papa, rising so 
suddenly that Kitty, who was sitting very near him, found herself 
rolling over on the smooth sand; “and for those obtuse persons 
who did not I will give the moral in the words of the poet : 

* Tell me with whom you go, 

And I’ll tell you what you do.’ 

The rhyme is open to criticism, but the sentiment must atone 
for it.” 



As they strolled slowly home through the green lane which 
bordered the hay-field they overtook the last load of hay, just 
starting for the barn, and the boys begged so earnestly for “a 
ride” that the good-natured farmer, whose strength was nearly 


24 


CLOVER BEACH. 


equal to his good-nature, seized Rob and tossed him up as if he 
had been a feather. But Master Rob, taken by surprise, failed to 
effect a landing, and turned a back somersault, which would 
probably have been his last had not the farmer, with a sudden 
jump, dexterously caught him. While he was in the air, however, 
a shriek arose from his sisters and Nelly Heath, which brought 
Mrs. Denison in wild terror to the hay-field; and Mr. Cheston 
kindly but very seriously told the girls how much mischief a 
scream sometimes did in any sudden danger, and that self control 
and readiness under emergencies were arts which could be 
learned and practised even by weak and timid people. The ride 
on the hay-wagon was given up for that evening, and everybody 
felt a little sobered by Rob’s momentary danger, until Kitty sud 
denly exclaimed, “ The moral of that is, papa, that little boys 
oughtn’t to go where they can’t hold on.” 

There was a general laugh, and Kitty was addressed as “The 
Duchess ” from that time — a title which she evidently enjoyed 
and considered highly honorable to her small person. 



7 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE CLAMBAKE, CONTINUED. 

HE little phoebe-bird which every 
morning plaintively called “ Phoe-be ! 
Phoe-be !” in the cherry tree by the 
children’s windows did not get up 
early enough to call them on the 
morning of that “glorious Fourth” 
which was to be made memorable 
by the clambake. One would have 
thought that an emigrant-train was 
to be started, and that the whole 
responsibility rested upon those children. By eight o’clock break- 
fast was over, and the blue-flannel brigade drawn up on the porch, 
anxiously awaiting the “ hay-shelvings ” which kind Mr. Denison 
had suggested as a suitable conveyance to the beach. No matter 
in how many stately coaches those boys and girls may some day 
ride, I do not believe they will regard any of them with the rap- 
ture which forced a shout of applause from them as the horses 

125 



26 


CLOVER BEACH. 


drawing the huge open wagon pranced up to the door, and they 
swarmed in and settled themselves upon the cushions of fragrant 
hay, which were all the seats this stately conveyance boasted. It 
was amazing what an amount of luggage every one had. Mrs. 
Cheston and Mrs. Heath, under the delusion that they were 
going to sew while the children played, had their work-baskets, 
and also books to read aloud to each other. Lina and Nelly and 
Nora had a vast amount of drawing arrangements, among which, 
to every one’s great amusement, was Nora’s easel. But nobody 
even hinted that she had better leave it at home, for one especial 
bargain about this festivity had been that there was to be no 
interference between the children, and Mr. Denison had sug- 
gested to Mr. Cheston that the hay-wagon would solve all 
difficulties by providing room for everything and everybody. 
Mr. Cheston had made an address while they were “ waiting for 
the wagon,” beginning, curiously enough, with the sentence, “All 
men are born free and equal, and endowed with certain inalien- 
able rights, such as life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” 
There is no telling how much more he meant to say, but the 
cheering at this point had overpowered him, and by the time it 
cleared off the wagon had arrived. 

Do you really wish to know what all went into that wagon? 
Four grown-ups, nine children, two small dogs, and two kittens 
composed the living freight. I decline to enumerate the articles 
which filled in all the spaces, but will merely mention that the party 


THE CLAMBAKE. 


127 


would have been comfortable for a week had they been cast — in the 
hay-wagon — on the most deserted of desert islands. 

Dandy, who had a funny terror of all conveyances on wheels, and 
who had “ gone on ” till you might have thought “ his ’owls were 
horgans” upon the one or two occasions when the children had 
coaxed him into a wagon, ran in front and behind and on both sides, 
as if he were four dogs instead of one, barking in the faces of the 
patient farm-horses, who looked at him with mild disdain and pur- 
sued the even tenor of their way very much as if he were a large 
fly. 

Kitty and Rob and Polly and Tom had an immense parcel 
wrapped in a bursting newspaper, which they declared was “a 
secret with mamma and Charlie.” The rest expressed their disdain 
of a secret which included six people, but Kitty said a secret with 
just one person wasn’t worth anything at all. 

To their unbounded delight, they found a fishing-boat drawn up 
on the beach not far from the sheltering rocks near which the tent 
was pitched. The old fisherman and his son were emptying a net, 
and the shining scales of the herring glittered in the sun. A bar- 
gain was quickly made for part of the haul, and Mr. Cheston said 
he would show the children how to roast the fish in hot ashes, as he 
used to do when he “ camped out ” in the Adirondacks — “ in the 
happy days before I had eight such awful responsibilities,” he said, 
with so deep a sigh that the whole eight sprang upon him at once 
to console him, and nearly succeeded in choking him. 


28 


CLOVER BEACH. 


Kitty looked doubtfully at the fish. “ But, papa,” she said in a 
puzzled tone, “I always thought herrings were red — or brown, 
anyhow — and these are white. Don’t you know what the verse 
says ; 


The man of the wilderness asked me 
How many strawberries grew in the sea ; 

I answered him, as I thought good, 

As many as red herrings grew in the wood.’ 


“ Perfectly correct, my dear,” said papa, “ but those herrings had 
probably been smoked, and so have the broiled ones of which you 
have heretofore partaken. I am going to show you a new thing in 
herrings when dinner-time comes.” 

The children scattered over the sand to their various employ- 
ments. The four youngest, lugging the mysterious bundle and 
calling Charlie to follow them, disappeared behind the large rocks 
near the tent, whence presently came a sound of violent hammer- 
ing, followed, after an interval of about fifteen minutes, by a trium- 
phant shout of Now you can all come and look !” 

Those who were within call availed themselves of this gracious 
permission, and found an imposing pavilion composed of three old 
shawls stitched together, and supported on stout poles at a suf- 
ficient distance from the ground to allow the small people to stand 
and the large ones to sit underneath. The builders of this resting- 
place eloquently explained that it was much better than the tent — 



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THE CLAMBAKE. 


I3I 


first, because it was large enough to hold the entire family if they 
would only sit down ; and, second, because the air could get in all 
round. To this desirable retreat shawls and cushions and work- 
baskets and kittens were forthwith removed, and from it Mrs. Heath 
and Mrs. Cheston laughingly refused to stir when the preparations 
for dinner began, saying that Mr. Cheston’s having volunteered as 
chief cook was a sufficient guarantee for the goodness of the cook- 
ery, and that they felt relieved of all responsibility. There really 
was nothing to cook besides the fish and the coffee for the grown- 
ups ; so the two “lovely and lazy ladies” were courteously re- 
quested to take possession of the tent while the pavilion should be 
made ready for the feast, and the children agreed that things really 
looked quite Oriental and stately when the cloth was spread on the 
smooth sand, the shawls and cushions disposed around it for seats, 
and the dinner tastefully spread out with the dish of smoking fish 
in the middle. 

Toasts were drunk in coffee and lemonade; appropriate 
speeches were made; several songs were called for, and given 
amid such overwhelming applause that the singers had some 
difficulty in making themselves heard; and a salute of fire- 
crackers rewarded Mr. Cheston for his brilliant success with the 
fish, the only trouble about which was a generally-expressed 
regret that he had not bought the whole haul. But he conspled 
them with the remark that if he had there would have been no 
possibility of disposing of the approaching clambake, which was 


132 


CLOVER BEACH. 


to be served, if the clams conducted themselves properly, pre- 
cisely at five o’clock. 

His mysterious parcel had developed eight packs of fire- 
crackers, and he had told Lina and Charlie that if they felt too 
old for fire-crackers he would dispose of their packs himself. 
He was not allowed this privilege, however, so he said he would 
be obliged to console himself with listening to them. 

Polly and Rob and little Tom devoted their fire-crackers to 
an elaborate mining and blasting operation, which Dick, perched 
proudly on the stern of the little fishing-vessel, superintended 
and cheered, but toward which he could not contribute, having 
employed his crackers to fire the salute. When the mine was 
completely roofed over, leaving only a small passage through 
which the stems of numerous fire-crackers, arranged as a fuse, 
were carefully passed, the engineers retired to a safe distance, 
willingly according to Dick the privilege of applying the match. 

The commotion that followed exceeded their highest hopes, and 
Dandy and Dot, having begun to investigate just as the explo- 
sion began, made the children laugh themselves “ almost to 
pieces,” as Kitty said, by their frantic efforts to find the unseen 
enemy. They succeeded in scratching down to the mine just as 
the volley ended, and then caused fresh laughter by their behavior 
over the smoke which saluted them. Dandy made short back- 
ward runs, returning with violent barks to the charge as long as 
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m 


THE CLAMBAKE. 


135 


name, and always would, stood unflinchingly at the hole, sneezing 
and growling alternately. Polly and Rob and Tom were quite 
satisfied with the returns made from the investment of their fire- 
crackers. 

Lina and Charlie made a more ambitious but equally successful 
arrangement, to which Kitty, by special request, was allowed to 
contribute. Charlie carved a rough boat, about a foot long, out 
of a piece of driftwood, enclosing the crackers “ between-decks,” 
and sent it out on a retreating wave, having lighted the fuse as 
he started it. It went off as it sailed away on the ebbing tide, 
•^.nd Dandy, taking this as a fresh insult from the foe which he had 
considered vanquished, plunged in after it and triumphantly towed 
it ashore after all the crackers had exploded. It was his first 
venture into the water, and was greeted with shouts of applause. 
Having once taken the plunge. Dandy seemed rather to like it, 
and amid great clapping of hands, which evidently gratified him 
highly, and stimulated him to fresh efforts, he went in again and 
again after bits of wood thrown by the children, until they took 
pity on his fatigue and called him out. What couldfCt Dandy 
do, they wondered, that ever dog had done before? 

Dot was not to be persuaded so much as to wet his toes ; he 
cocked his absurd little head and barked fiercely every time 
Dandy came out, but that was all. 

Kitty said indignantly that it was no wonder when he was so 
little and the ocean was so big ! Meanwhile, the little Manj<: 


136 


CLOVER BEACH. 


and Polly’s kitten, having been refreshed with remnants of the 
feast, slept peacefully in the pavilion. 

Martha and the clams appeared upon the scene ; the call for 
volunteers to dig the hole for the baking was responded to by 
Charlie and Dick, Mr. Cheston saying that he had earned his 
dinner and supper both by the herring business. The hole was 
dug in masterly style, the fire was lighted, the hole cleared out 
and filled with the devoted clams and other mysteries which were 
known only to Martha, the covering packed tightly in, and then 
there was nothing more to be done until the time to “dish up” 
should come — except to smell it, as Kitty suggested. 

So, as everybody had taken a good deal of exercise by this 
time, they settled down in the pavilion and begged for a story. 
Mr. and Mrs. Cheston both said that it was beyond a doubt Mrs. 
Heath’s duty to provide a story for this festive occasion, that 
they had told every story they knew at least twice, and that it 
would refresh them greatly to hear an entirely new one told by 
somebody else. 

“ I will not promise an entirely new one,” said Mrs. Heath, 
smiling, “ but I suppose it will be allowed to pass if it is new to 
every one here. Let me see. When I was a small girl at school 
we used to give each other subjects: will anybody give me 
one ?” 

“ Cats,” said Kitty before anybody else had time to speak ' 
and there was a general laugh. 







\ 



THE CLAMBAKE. 


139 


Mrs. Heath thought a minute; then she said, “Yes, that will do 
very well indeed. I wonder if either of the distinguished artists 
present would draw me a picture?” 

It was a proof of the better understanding which had come 
between Lina and Nora that when Mrs. Heath looked from one 
to the other, unwilling to make the choice herself, Lina said, 
simply and unenviously, “ It had better be Nora, Mrs. Heath. I 
haven’t her talent for hitting off things in a few strokes.” 

And Nora said eagerly, “ But she makes much prettier drawings 
than mine, Mrs. Heath: mine are always full of mistakes.” 

“Still,” said Mrs. Heath, “I think I have heard the children 
say that you can make one of your sketches very rapidly, and I 
am sure you did last evening; so I will nominate you this time, 
for fear the. clams should grow tired of waiting for me to finish 
my story. The audience will please turn its attention to that 
very distant sail which is just becoming visible on the horizon 
until we are ready for it to look.” 

So Mrs. Heath dictated and Nora sketched, and the rest obe- 
diently watched the sail, until, having received permission, they 
turned their attention to the picture before them, fully expecting to 
see at least one cat. They' were not disappointed ; there was a ca*- 
tangled in the harness of a doll’s wagon ; but the principal figure 
was a dreadfully cross-looking little girl, who held up one hand as 
if she were looking at it, and had the other stuck in her eye as if 
she were crying.- - . • 


140 


CLOVER BEACH. 


“The name of my story,” said Mrs. Heath, “ is 
“A LITTLE SCRATCH-CAT. 

“Their names were Bessie and Tripod, and of course, since no 
one in his senses would name a dear little girl Tripod, Bessie was 
the girl and Tripod was the cat. Tripod was so named because 
she had only three good feet when her name was chosen, and a 
tripod, as some of you who go to school will know, has only three 
feet of any kind at any time. Her lameness grew better after a 
while, but she still walked with a little hitch, and Bessie, after think- 
ing a good deal about it, had decided not to change her name. 

“‘You know, mamma,’ she said, ‘Tripod hasn’t four really good 
feet even yet, and there’s no telling when her lame foot might get 
worse, and then I should be so sorry I had called her Quad-ruped, 
as Fred wants me to.’ 

“ This little Bessie loved animals dearly, and was generally very 
good to them, but she had a fault which gave her dear mother — and 
in fact all the family — a great deal of trouble : she very often ‘ lost her 
temper,’ as people say, although I think it would be nearer the truth 
to say that she ‘found’ it: other people certainly found it. The old 
lady who had given Tripod to Bessie had been very sure when she 
did so that the kitten was good-tempered ; ‘ For,’ she said, looking 
over her spectacles at Bessie, ‘ nobody likes scratch-cats.’ 

“ Bessie blushed and hid her face in the kitten’s soft fur. Could 
that old lady have known that the little girls at school sometimes 


THE CLAMBAKE. 


I4I 


called cross people ‘ scratch-cats ’ ? You might have thought that 
Tripod’s lameness, and her very name, would have kept Bessie 
constantly on her guard, for it was owing to this same hasty temper 
of Bessie’s that Tripod had to go on three feet for so long. 

“ A thing Bessie often did when she was angry was to slam the 
door as she went out, and although her mother always made her 
come back and shut it properly, she still seemed to find some com- 
fort in the slamming process. 

“The kitten, not long after her arrival at Bessie’s home, was 
lying across the sill of the half-opened door, playing with her tail 
in a way which at any other time would have made Bessie call the 
whole family to ‘ Come and look.’ But mamma had just sent her 
little daughter to gather up and put away the remains of a grand 
dolls’ tea-party which had been left in wild confusion on the piazza; 
and Bessie, feeling very much injured at being stopped on her way 
to the country with her family of six children and four nurses, had 
expressed her feelings in the usual way. The poor kitten, fright- 
ened out of her little wits, tried in vain to get up and run in time; 
the slamming door caught one of her pretty white paws; there 
were two shrieks ; I don’t know what the kitten said, but Bessie 
screamed, ‘ Oh, my pussy ! my pussy !’ and cried all the afternoon, 
with Kitty, lying on the best doll’s feather bed, in her lap. 

“ Mamma had talked very sadly with her little girl, telling her 
that she never could know what dreadful thing might happen if she 
gave way to those fits of passion. ‘ Suppose,’ she said, ‘ that Baby 


142 


CLOVER BEACH. 


Nelly had been creeping on the floor, and that it had been her hand 
instead of pussy’s paw which the door struck ?’ 

“Bessie cried with all her heart, and promised humbly to try to 
conquer her naughty temper ; and if she had kept on trying in the 
only right way, I do not think this story could have been told about 
her, for she had the strong will which high-tempered people so often 
have, and which, rightly used, is the cure for the bad temper, I 
think when St. Paul said, ‘ In all things willing to live honestly,’ he 
did not mean just consenting ; he meant intending, earnestly pur- 
posing; and there is a great deal in willing if we will only those 
things upon which we can pray for a blessing from the Almighty 
Will. 

“Fora good while after this sad day Tripod seemed to keep 
Bessie reminded, but then, as perhaps you know, our memories are 
such queer things. I have no doubt you were much longer learning 
your ‘capitals’ than you were remembering the names of all your 
schoolmates where you first went to school. And though you 
forget sometimes that to-morrow is ‘composition day,’ I don’J 
believe you forgot when papa promised to take you next Wednes 
day week to the Zoological Gardens. 

“ So Bessie gradually slipped back to where she had been before 
she hurt Tripod, and one rainy Saturday, when Fred had mumps 
and was kept a prisoner in the third-story front room for fear he 
would give it to thd other children, Bessie fretted and whined until 
I think it occurred to one or two of the family that it would not be 


THE CLAMBAKE. 


143 


such a bad thing if she too had mumps and were consigned to the 
third-story back room. 

“ Fred dictated a note to her, and her mother faithfully wrote it 
down and delivered it. Fred was ten years old, and learned a 
‘ piece’ out of the Speaker oncG a week, so you will not be surprised 
that he said — 

“ ‘ My Well- LOVED Sister: From my anguished couch — though 
I am only on the lounge, and the doctor says I may keep my coat 
and trousers on if I’ll be covered up too — I write — or mamma does 
for me, and it’s all the same — to bespeak your tender care of Billy. 
All he wants is “a scrip with herbs and fruit supplied, and water 
from the spring that is to say, fresh bird-seed in his trough, a 
piece of chickweed — which, owing to the conflict of the elements, 
you must ask John to pick for you — and his glass washed out and 
filled from the spring which is underneath the pump somewhere. 
My throbbing temples warn me to desist — only it is my jaws — and 
mamma says she can’t conscientiously allow me to exert my intel- 
lect any more at present ; so I must subscribe myself — though but 
the shadow of my former self — your faithful brother, 

“ ‘ Frederick Thornton Raymond.’ 

“If this had but amused Bessie as much as it amused Fred and 
his mother, she would not have thought the day so long and dull ; 
but she only grumbled a little at being asked to attend to Billy, and 


£44 


CLOVER BEACH. 



said she wouldn’t mind having mumps if she could have as much 
jelly as she wanted too. Now, this was very ungracious of her, 
for Billy was part of the ‘ Happy Family ’ which she and Fred were 
training, and which, in their presence, was wonderfully friendly, 


considering of what it was composed. I cannot say what the con- 
sequences might have been if Ponto the great black dog, and 
Tripod the demure cat, and Stumps the rabbit, and Billy the canary- 
bird, and Columbus the dove, had all been left alone together for any 
length of time, but certainly when either of their tamers presided over 




THE CLAMBAKE. 


45 


the ceremonies they let each other alone beautifully, and Bessie had 
spent a full hour the day before trying to coax Stumps and Tripod 
to eat out of the same plate. But then nobody had asked her to 
do it, and that makes a great difference, as we all know. 

“ After attending to Billy’s wants — for, as her old nurse some- 
times said by way of excusing her, ‘her bark was worse than her 
bite ’ — she found that there were still two long hours left before it 
would be tea-time. Her mother came through the dining-room, 
where Bessie was sitting stupidly on the lounge watching the clock, 
and cheerfully suggested that Sophonisba looked as if she needed 
a drive. Bessie glanced at Sophonisba. That unfortunate lady was 
lying on the sofa-pillow with her hands spread out imploringly, and 
the too-quickly made bonnet tied over her head in a way that suggest- 
ed Fred’s mumps. Bessie smiled a little in spite of herself as she 
slowly crept off the lounge and tucked Sophonisba into her basket- 
carriage. Then she began to pull the carriage in a drawling sort of 
way; and just at that unfortunate moment Tripod entered the room, 
and, springing upon the lounge, curled herself into a pretty ball, 
blinking and purring. 

“‘Yes, you lazy little thing!’ said Bessie crossly, ‘that’s all you 
are good for, to eat milk and lie on a lounge. But you shall just 
pull Sophonisba clear ^ to the front door and back again, or you 
sha’n’t have one bit of supper — so there 1’ 

“Tripod blinked and purred more than ever, as if she thought 

Bessie was only talking in this way for fun ; but she did not do 
10 


146 


CLOVER BEACH. 


either when Bessie, holding her much too tightly for her comfort, 
fastened her with a long string to the carriage. It took some time 
and a great deal of trouble to do this, and if Tripod had not been 
very amiable she would have defended herself ; but it was done at 
last, and Bessie set the carriage and pussy down on the floor and 
said, ‘ Get up !’ 

“ Tripod did get up : she gave one bound into the air, and then 
scampered across the room, and in her worriment and fright ran 
the carriage against the sideboard, overturning it and breaking a 
wheel, and then, in her frantic struggles to free herself, catching 
her lame foot in the twine in a way which must have hurt her 
very much. 

“ ‘ Oh, you wicked cat !’ screamed Bessie, and, seizing poor 
Tripod roughly, she gave the twine a pull > and the cat a jerk all at 
once. 

“This was too much: Tripod’s patience came to an end, and 
Bessie screamed in earnest, for all down her longest finger was a 
deep red scratch. She stood there looking at it and screaming and 
sobbing by turns — not caring at all that Tripod, unable to free her 
poor paw, was struggling and mewing piteously — until the noise 
brought Mrs. Raymond, who ran hurriedly in, thinking Bessie must 
have set her clothes on fire or at least fallen down stairs. ‘ My 
child, what is the matter?’ she asked anxiously. 

“ Bessie stopped screaming long enough to sob, ‘ That bad, 
wicked cat sc-scr-scratched me !’ 


THE CLAMBAKE. 


147 


“By this time Mrs. * Raymond began to understand a little, 
and without saying another word to Bessie she hastened to re- 
lease poor Tripod, but not before the cat, in her struggles, had 
torn a large hole in the very front breadth of Sophonisba’s best 
frock. Then Bessie’s mother said to her, very gravely, ‘ Go to 
nurse, Bessie, and ask her to wrap up your finger, and then to 
undress you and put you to bed. I cannot leave Fred any longer 
just now ; so you can ask nurse to bring you some bread and 
milk at tea-time, and before you are asleep I will come and see 
you.’ 

“ Bessie went without replying, for the fit of temper was over 
now, and she was already ashamed and penitent. She did not 
enjoy her supper very much, you may be sure ; she was 
thinking of poor Tripod’s lame foot; of Fred’s cheerful note, 
which she had not even answered by a message ; of the fretful- 
ness which had given her mother one more anxiety all day. 

“ Nurse left her as soon as her supper was eaten, and when 
she was quite alone the tears came again — not of anger, this 
time, but of sorrow and shame. She had just sobbed out, ‘ I wish 
my finger hurt me a great, great deal more,’ when she felt her 
mother’s cool hand on her hot forehead, and, springing from the 
bed, she threw herself into those kind arms, which, no matter 
how naughty she had been, were always open to her at the first 
sign of penitence. 

“ Her mother wrapped her in a shawl, and then taking her to 


148 


CLOVER BEACH. 


a low chair by the western window, talked over with her the un- 
happy day. 

“ ‘ I think it began this morning, mamma,’ said Bessie in a 
trembling voice. ‘I got to thinking of Sophonisba and my new 
carriage while I was saying my prayers, and I never noticed 
what I was saying till I came to “ Amen and then, when some- 
thing wanted me to begin over again, I just said, “I won’t!” to 
myself, and ran down stairs ; and I didn’t want to feed Billy ; 
and I never sent Fred a message even for his beautiful letter ; 
and I bothered nurse and I bothered you ; and I thought some- 
body ought to be punished, and so I punished Tripod, when all 
the time it was me myself’ Bessie cried bitterly when she had 
said this, and she was not comforted until she had knelt beside 
her mother and begged forgiveness of the dear Lord, whose 
help she had rejected all day. Then her mother tucked her up 
in bed again, but Bessie said humbly, ‘ Mamma, will you write me 
just a very little letter to Freddie, and may I hold Tripod while 
you write it?’ 

“Mrs. Raymond did not tell her she must wait until morning; 
she brought Tripod, who went with a loving purr into her litttle 
mistress’s arms, and then Bessie dictated and her mother 
wrote — 

‘“My Darling Freddie: 

“ ‘ I have been very, very bad all day, but I am really and 


THE CLAMBAKE. 


149 


truly sorry now. Your letter was beautiful, and I did what you 
asked for Billy, but I did it grudgingly; and so it was just as 
bad for me, but not for Billy, as if I hadn’t done it at all. But 1 
am very, very sorry, and I love you more than I can put in a 
letter; so good-night, my precious brother.’ 

“Mrs. Raymond promised to read this to Freddy immediately, 
and then, with one more loving kiss, she left her little daughter, 
saying that nurse might come for Tripod in a few minutes; and 
Bessie, comforted and forgiven, fell asleep, with the scratched 
hand nestled lovingly against Tripod’s soft fur.” 

“ I wish my pussy only had three legs,” sighed Kitty as Mrs. 
Heath concluded her story ; “ that is, if she wouldn’t mind. Tri- 
pod is such a lovely name !” 

“ She hasn’t any tail worth speaking of,” said Charlie gravely, 
“so I don’t believe she’d object to being called Tripod. We 
might try.” 

Kitty had great faith in Charlie, so she brightened up imme- 
diately, and unrolled the gray shawl in which she supposed the 
little Manx was peacefully sleeping, but there was nothing but 
shawl ! A hunt immediately ensued, in which both dogs, the 
other kitten — carried in Polly’s arms — and all the children joined ; 
and Manx was at last found, several fields away, and, as she prob- 
ably thought, rescued from a dreadful fate. She stood coura- 
geously facing a large beetle, known to the children as a “ pincher- 


CLOVER BEACH. 


150 


bug,” and it would have been hard to tell which of these queer 
antagonists felt the more alarmed. 

Kitty caught up her treasure, and Rob gave the pincher-bug a 
stick, which he seized with such fierceness that Kitty exclaimed, “ If 
that had been Tripod’s nose he’d have pinched it right off, for it 
isn’t hard, like the stick. — When you meet a dreadful, horrible, 
wicked bug like that again, Tripod, don’t you stand and look at him, 
but just turn round and run; it wouldn’t matter so much if he 
caught your tail, for he couldn’t pull that off.” 

Just then they heard a blast from the horn, which was the signal 
Martha had agreed to give when she should be ready for them to 
spread the cloth for supper. 

When they got back to the pavilion they found that Mr. and Mrs. 
Denison had arrived, Martha was uncovering her crypt, and they 
had to scamper to have the table ready. 

Although they had been coming to Clover Beach for the last four 
or five years, it had so happened that they had never succeeded in 
accomplishing a clambake before, there had always been so many 
other things to do. So Mr. Cheston told Martha, as she set the 
smoking dish on the table, that she ought to feel an honest pride in 
the fact that she was giving them all a new sensation. They agreed 
that it was a very pleasant one as the dish, on which barely enough 
“ for manners ” had been left, was carefully scraped by Kitty and 
Polly for the benefit of the kittens : there was no doubt about its 
being their first clambake. Kitty pitied Dandy and Dot very much 



“SHE STOOD COURAGEOUSLY FACING A LARGE EEEiEE. 


DCC r«4gc 








I 


THE CLAMBAKE. 


153 


because there was no clambake left for them ; but they seemed per- 
fectly satisfied with the plateful of bones and scraps which Lina had 
saved from dinner for them, and as they did not know about the 
clams, Lina told Kitty they did not really lose them. 

The hay-wagon arrived soon after supper was over, and the 
family and its numerous possessions were once more stowed away 
in it. The ocean looked much too lovely to be left, but Mr. Ches- 
ton consoled them by the assurance that, being salt, it would keep 
for some time yet, and that they could come back next day. 

“Yes, papa, but the clambake won’t come back,” said Kitty, so 
dolefully that they all laughed. 

Mr. Denison must have thought that the longest way round was 
the shortest way home, for the wagon went winding about through 
green lanes until the gathering darkness — which was always later 
in coming here than it was anywhere else, the children thought — 
warned them home, although they all said they were not “half sung 
out ” yet, and Kitty insisted that they were all “ martingales ” and 
could sing all night just as easily as not. 

They would have been obliged to do it in their sleep, the mothers 
thought, for nobody kept awake more than two minutes after the 
heads were on the pillows ; there is nothing like a day out of doors 
to make the most nightingale-ish person sleep. 


/ 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A LITTLE CLOUDY AGAIN. 

H, let me alone, Sub !” said Nora crossly. 
“ I am not going to speak to Polly again 
until she apologizes, and — does some- 
thing else ; and you may just as well let 
me be, first as last.” 

“ My dear Miss O’Neal,” said Charlie, 
kicking up his heels ecstatically as he 
lay stretched on the sand before her, 
“after such an excellent pun as that 
your hard heart should relent, for if it hadn’t been for Polly, you 
never would have made it. Come now, breathe in my listening 
ear what poor little Hopkins has done, that ‘you treat her so, 
treat her so;’’' and Charlie warbled affectedly. “You know I am 
a perfect tomb of secrets ; it shall be buried with me.” 

“ No,” said Nora ; but she did not speak so stubbornly, Charlie 
thought, and she looked very much as if a smile were struggling 
with the pout. “I’d tell you if I would tell anybody — besides 

154 



A LITTLE CLOUDY AGAIX. 


55 



mamma — but it will only make it worse to tell. And then you’d 
laugh — I know you would.” 

“ I am afraid I should if it is anything funny,” admitted Charlie 
candidly ; “ but you know I would 
not laugh ill-naturedly, dearie, and 
perhaps I can help you.” 

“ I’ll go away if you don’t want 
me to hear, Nora,” said Dick 
meekly ; he had been standing 


patiently beside his comrades, spade in hand, sympathizing as well 
as he could, without at all understanding. 

“ I wish they were all like Charlie and you, Dick,” sighed Nora, 
“and then they wouldn’t provoke me so. But you needn’t wait 


CLOVER BEACH. 


156 


for me to come and play ; I shall not play one single bit all day, 
and I’ve a great mind — ” She stopped, but the mischief she 
had in her “great mind” danced in her eyes. 

“ I’m glad to hear it,” said Charlie as Dick walked slowly away : 
“a great mind is magnanimous and overlooks small annoyances 
and offences.” 

“ Don’t be so clever. Sub — if you can help it,” said Nora 
sarcastically. 

“ I really can’t, you know,” replied Charlie gravely ; “ it’s the 
evidence of my great mind, you know. But corne, dear,” he 
added kindly, “tell me all about it: I know you will feel better 
if you do.” 

“Well,” said Nora resignedly, “perhaps I will; that is, if you 
don’t laugh much : I couldn’t stand that. It was foolish of me 
to tell such a simple little thing as Polly, in the first place, but 
it happened that there was nobody handy but she and Rob, and 
it sounded so nice I went and told them. Now, you really and 
truly, and indeed and double, won’t tell anybody but mamma?” 
and she looked searchingly into Charlie’s eyes. 

“Never, without your express permission, ma’am;” and Char- 
lie returned her gaze unflinchingly. 

“Very well, then. You know the day you went sailing we 
made hay, and the hay-field looked so pretty I wanted to write 
a poem about it, but I couldn’t get it to rhyme — ” 

“ I sympathize with you,” interrupted Charlie. “ If you will 


A LITTLE CLOUDY AGAIN. 


157 


excuse a little slang, I will remark that I have been there myself, 
and know the country.” 

Have you?” said Nora, looking very much pleased. “I 
thought you could do anything you liked. Sub, if you only had 
time enough. I wrote — 

‘ Over the hill the farmer’s boy goes 

and it seemed to me it was early in the morning, and the dew 
was all sparkling and the wild roses were making the air all 
sweet ; but I couldn’t get it to rhyme. I thought of ‘ nose ’ and 
‘ rose ’ and ‘ toes,’ but I couldn’t make it make sense and rhyme 
too.” 

“ Again I sympathize,” murmured Charlie. 

“And while I was trying,” pursued Nora, “I fell asleep, and when 
I woke up Polly was tickling my nose with a wild rose — she and 
Rob had gathered a whole lot — and it came to me right away 
of its own accord — 

‘ Over the hill the farmer’s boy goes, 

Tickling his nose with a newly-blown rose.’ ” 

“That certainly makes both sound and sense,” said Charlie, 
smiling, but he looked so kind that Nora did not take offence, and 
went on with her story : “ I told it to Polly and Rob, to see what 
they would say, and they said it was beautiful, and they did not see 
how I did it — I didn’t see myself, for it just came right into my head, 


158 


CLOVER BEACH. 


you know, all ready-made — and they made me say it over three or 
four times. Then I forgot all about it, thinking about the clambake, 
until this morning, and then — You know that little cottage, with 
the high board fence round it, that’s been empty all summer?” 



Charlie nodded. 


“We often stop on our way to the beach to pick the woodbine 
that has straggled over on the outside of the fence, and this morn- 
ing Polly stayed behind to pick some ; and she stayed so long that 
Lina asked me to go back and see what was keeping her. She 



A LITTLE CLOUDY AGAIN. 


159 


was afraid she had fallen, for we had found a way to climb to the 
top of the fence : there are knot-holes, you know, and a wide board 
running all along the top. I found Polly all right, and I didn’t won- 
der she had stayed. The cottage-windows were open — at least the 
inside shutters were — and there were curtains to the windows. 
Polly was sitting on top of the fence, and a funny-looking old gen- 
tleman, with a pipe half a yard long hanging from his mouth, was 
standing on the other side ; and — oh, Charlie ! — two of the very 
dearest little dogs you ever see, with the sweetest little pug 
noses, were sitting on the fence between Polly and the old gentle- 
man ; and one of them was just shaking hands with her as if he 
had been a person. As I came up Polly said, ‘ That’s my sister 
Nora, sir. — Nora, this nice old gentleman and these dear little dogs 
have come to stay all the rest of the summer, and he says we must 
come and see them often if our mamma will let us. She will, don’t 
you think ?’ The old gentleman and I both laughed, and he made 
the little dogs shake hands with me, and then he said, in his funny 
broken English — I think he must be a German — that he saw I had 
my drawing-book, and that perhaps I could take a picture for him 
of Snip and Snap ? And before I could say a word Polly piped up, 
‘ Yes, indeed she can ! She takes beautiful pictures of everything, 
and she made some poetry too in the hay-field ; I’ll tell it to you : 

" Over the hill the farmer’s boy goes, 

Tickling his newly-blown nose with a rose.” 


i6o 


CLOVER BEACH. 


The old gentleman laughed till I thought the top of his head would 
come off, and I was so angry I ran right away : I couldn’t speak a 
word ; and so he thinks I really wrote that dreadful thing Polly said, 
and I don’t know what to do.” 

“ I think I would just ask Polly, the next time she sees the old 
gentleman — which will probably be some time to-day — to tell him 
how your verse really went. She’d do it, wouldn’t she?” said 
Charlie. 

“ I don’t know. I wasn’t going even to speak to Polly till she said 
she was sorry.” 

“ But does she know you are angry with her?” 

“Why, no,” said Nora, looking a little foolish, “I don’t believe 
she does. She went back to the house, and I came on here.” 

“Very well, then, if you will trust me I will straighten things out 
for you immediately, and Polly can be spared all knowledge of your 
wrath. She’s such a loving little soul, you know ; and, after all, it 
appears that it was her pardonable pride in your double-ended 
genius which misled her; so I think you ought to give her a hug 
instead of a cold shoulder ; and you must admit that her mistake 
was funny. Miss O’Neal ?” 

The clouds were all gone from Nora’s face by this time ; she 
could even laugh at the absurdity of the mistake, and she promised 
not to visit it in any way upon Polly. 

Charlie started on his mission, but she called him back. “ Do 
you know which is your blessing, Sub?” she said quite gravely. 


A LITTLE CLOUDY AGAIN. 


l6l 


“I have several,” replied Charlie gayly. “You’re one of them 
when you look as you do now, my darlin’ sweet Nora!” 

“ No, I’m in earnest,” said Nora ; “ it’s ‘ Blessed are the peace- 
makers.’ ” 

Polly could not be convinced that there was any difference, as to 
merit, between her version of Nora’s poem and the original one, 
but she was perfectly willing to make the correction, and found her 
opportunity that very afternoon, when the old gentleman, pipe, 
“leetle dogs, and all,” called at the farm-house to see if Mrs, Denison 
could serve him and his wife with milk and cream. At least, that 
was his ostensible errand, but when it was satisfactorily concluded 
he wandered home by way of the Cheston cottage, and, finding 
Mrs. Heath and Mrs. Cheston upon the piazza, affably entered into 
a conversation, in the course of which he told them that he and his 
wife had no children, and that if he could borrow a few now and 
then he would be much happier. He asked the ladies to call upon 
his wife ; and, as they did not wish to deprive the children of an 
acquaintance which seemed to promise so much pleasure, they said 
they would call very soon ; and the old gentleman went on his way 
apparently well pleased, having carefully held his long pipe behind 
him, and his hat in the hand which was not holding the pipe, during 
the interview. Polly, who had been perched in one of the ham- 
mocks which hung in the yard, joined him before he reached the 
gate and made her explanation. 

The old gentleman must have had a very good memory for the 
11 


62 


CLOVER BEACH. 


time when he was a small child himself, for he seemed to under- 
stand perfectly. “ That makes one very great difference,” he said 
gravely ; “ and always, when you will go to tell what one shall say, 
you will tell also if you are not sure that you remember exactly 
the words. That is honest. You will say to the little sister that if 
the mamma gives leaves I hope to have soon a visit from her, and 
then she can draw the pictures of these my dogs.” Then, as if he 
were afraid he had hurt Polly’s feelings, he added kindly, “I go to 
make a garden at the new home, and when the flowers are bloom- 
ing some shall be for you.” 

Polly never forgot his few grave words about repeating things 
exactly : and how many misunderstandings and troubles would be 
avoided if only everybody would remember them ! 

It had been arranged that, excepting in stormy weather, Mrs. 
Heath and Nelly were to share the meals with the Chestons at the 
farm-house, in order to give Mrs. Denison less trouble. Mrs. 
Heath found that she would be obliged to leave Clover Beach the 
last of July or first of August, and the children were trying to 
crowd every possible pleasure into Nelly’s holiday. They were so 
well acquainted with the whole neighborhood that the favorite places 
which they wished to show her were almost beyond counting, and 
they were very much afraid she would be torn away from them 
before she had seen all the beauties which they wished to point out. 
This afternoon they had arranged to take her Lina’s favorite walk, 
through a great oak wood which covered many acres of Mr. Deni- 





*» 


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A LITTLE CLOUDY AGAIN. 


165 


son’s farm ; and as soon as the early dinner was comfortably over 
they set off in high spirits, Nora, particularly, feeling light-hearted 
because of her conquest in the morning, and all of them indulging 
in joyful anticipations of the “ fun ” they would have when they 
became better acquainted with their new friend and his delightfully 
ugly dogs. Kitty was sure they could “pug Dot’s nose up” by 
judicious applications of a spring clothes-pin, but upon the sugges- 
tion that it would “hurt like fun,” she begged Dot’s pardon and 
said she wouldn’t do it -for the world. But Lina said she didn’t see 
any beauty in pug noses for dogs, any more than for people, and 
she was perfectly satisfied with Dandy and Dot precisely as they 
were. 

The walk to the wood was not a long one, so even the little 
ones had been allowed to go ; and when they all reached the 
shady hollow from which enough trees had been cut to permit 
a carpet of short grass to grow, they scattered about searching 
for ferns and flowers, and calling to each other to “ Look here !” 
every five minutes. But a sudden cry of “Sister! oh, please 
come here quickly!” brought Lina, much frightened, to a black- 
berry-thicket, behind which Kitty and Polly and little Tom were 
crouching on the ground. 

“Who is hurt?” she asked anxiously before she reached them. 

“Oh, the poor little thing! the dear little thing!” came in 
eager chorus from all three; and then she saw, nearly concealed 
by Tom’s blouse as he stooped over it, a poor little white lamb. 


CLOVER BEACH. 


1 66 


lying apparently dead upon the ground. Its eyes were closed 
and its legs hung limp and powerless. A shout as loud as all 
four could make it soon brought Nora and Nelly and the boys, 
and then they hastily gathered boughs and twisted them into a 
sort of litter, upon which the helpless little creature was tenderly 
laid, 

Mrs. Cheston and Mrs. Heath received a far greater fright than 
Lina’s, for they saw the procession approaching and a little white 
form on the litter long before they could distinguish what it was, 
and they knew it was at least an hour sooner than the children 
had expected to return. But the same thought struck both 
mothers at once. 

“They’re all there, for I’ve counted, and it must be some 
child they’ve found,” cried Mrs. Heath, who, having only one 
child, was much more easily excited and alarmed about her than 
Mrs. Cheston was about her whole eight. 

“Yes, I counted too,” said the latter, smiling, “but I don’t 
think it is a child : it is some sort of little animal.” 

A chorus of information assailed the mothers as soon as the 
procession came within speaking distance, and the lamb was 
tenderly deposited on an old rug, while most of the children ran 
to beg Mrs. Denison’s advice and assistance, and some warm 
milk in case the patient should recover its senses enough to be 
fed. 

Mrs. Denison said that her husband had missed a lamb when 


A LITTLE CLOUDY AGAIN. 


167 


he counted the flock the night before, and had looked about 
in the wood, but had been unable to find it; the thicket in which 
it was entangled had no doubt hidden it. 

“Then if we cure it we’ll have to give it back to Mr. Denison,” 
said Kitty dolefully. 

Mrs. Denison laughed at Kitty’s mournful face. “ No, my 
dear,” she said ; “ if you can cure it you may have it for your 
own, if you can make the rest of the menagerie agree with 
it.” 

“ Dandy wouldn’t hurt it,” said Kitty hopefully — “ he’d help 
us take care of it; and Dot’s too little; and Tripod — Do 
kittens ever hurt lambs, Mrs. Denison ?” 

“Not that I ever heard of,” said Mrs. Denison; “and I think 
I would have found it out, for we’ve raised a good many of 
both since I came to the farm.” 

The watchers by the little lamb announced joyfully that it had 
opened its eyes and tried to baa while the rest were gone ; and 
Mrs. Denison assured them that it was only worn out with fatigue 
and hunger, and that a few days’ rest and care would quite re- 
store it. If the little lamb had come near dying of neglect, 
he came very near making up for it by dying from a surfeit. 
Everybody wished to feed him ; the baby had to be carefully 
watched or he would have smothered the lamb in his tender 
embraces ; and in two or three days this last addition to the 
menagerie became so popular that Dot openly manifested his 


i68 


CLOVER BEACH. 


jealousy. Lina said Dandy was too magnanimous to be jealous 
of a lamb, and Kitty said, “ Mag — what, Lina ? I wish you 
wouldn’t talk that way !” 

There was some discussion as to whether everybody ought 
to go away and leave the lamb the very day after he was found, 
and when, as Kitty said, he wasn’t quite well enough to sit up 
yet; but Mrs. Denison assured them that she would take every 
care of the invalid while they were gone, and that they might 
go with easy minds. 

That evening Nora lingered with her mother after the rest 
had said good-night and gone to bed, and when they were 
alone she told of her anger at Polly and Charlie’s intercession. 
“ When I came to think, mamma,” she said, “ I was frightened 
at being so mean : dear little Polly only meant to praise me and 
be proud of me, and then I wouldn’t so much as speak to her! 
And then I thought of all the fun I had made of Lina, when I 
can’t bear anybody to smile ever so little at me if they’re making 
fun of me, and she never kept angry; she always forgave me 
before I had asked her. And when we found the lamb, and it 
did not know anything, not even that it was lost, it made me 
think of the way Charlie came to me in the morning and showed 
me how bad I was, without telling me so, and made me come 
back.” 

“And did it not make you think of something else?” said Mrs. 
Cheston as Nora paused. 


A LITTLE CLOUDY AGAIN. 


169 


“Yes, mamma,” she answered softly, “it made me think of the 
verse about coming ‘ to seek and to save that which was lost.’ ” 
Mrs. Cheston kissed her little daughter. “It is because 
Charlie is trying so hard to follow that dear Saviour,” she said, 
“that he is growing like Him. We cannot be entirely like that 
perfect Pattern while we are here, but if we try our best we are 
told that we shall be afterward, and that we ‘ shall be satis- 
fied.’ And He sees, darling, that you have more to contend 
with in yourself than some of us have; so you must not be 
discouraged, but take the verse which so often comforts me : ‘ He 
sriveth more erace.’ ” 

o o •» 

‘‘But you don’t have to contend, mamma,” said Nora; “you 
never get angry and say things as we do.” 

“ It is high bed-time now,” said Mrs. Cheston, “ for people who 
are going on picnics to-morrow, but the next time that a story is 
wanted I have one all ready to tell. I will not say another word 
now besides ‘Good-night;’” and, kissing Nora once more, her 
mother left her. 



CHAPTER IX. 


THE PICNIC. 


HE cloudless weather continued not 
only through the festival week, but for 
many days after, and the farmers did 
not rejoice quite so much over it as the 
children did, for it was an exceptionally 
dry summer, and some of the crops 
suffered a little. But Mr. Denison said 
that of all crops he thought children 
were the most satisfactory ; they flour- 
ished equally in all weathers. And the 
crop at Clover Beach that summer was no exception to this delight- 
ful rule. It was a very lively crop that Friday morning. It had 
been decided to hold the picnic on the island, and they were to be 
t ken up there in three row-boats, the smallest and lightest of which 
was assigned to Charlie, who rowed very well, but was not quite so 
strong as he was willing. The other two boats were to be manned 
by Mr. Cheston and Mr. Denison, for the farmer’s family had 
yielded to general persuasion so far as Mr. Denison and Martha 

170 



THE PICNIC. 


171 


were concerned. Mrs. Denison said it would do her no good to go 
to a picnic on churning-day, for her mind would be left behind in the 
churn, but she should not be at all lonely, for there was the lamb. 
Everybody felt sorry that some other day had not been chosen, but 
she said it would never do for her to lock up the farm and go off 
with the key in her pocket: her ship might come in, and if nobody 
was there to meet it, it would go out again. Besides, she should 
enjoy the rest — no dinner to get, and no noise to prevent her taking 
naps all day if she wanted to. The children laughed at this, for 
only the day before she had been telling them affectionately that 
when they went away in the fall she hardly got done missing them 
before ihev came again. 

Mrs. Cheston and Mrs. Heath and Nora graciously consented to 
go in a row-ho2X, which, they said, was an entirely different thing 
from going in a sail-boat ; to which the people who liked sailing 
somewhat mournfully assented. Great, therefore, was the joy of 
these latter when, just as they were starting, a sail-boat which they 
had watched coming up the inlet made for their pier, and they saw 
that she was manned by a young fisherman who had often taken them 
out during former summers, fie regretted that his boat was not 
large enough to take the whole party, but offered to take two or 
three and tow all the rest, assuring them that he was going on up 
the river, anyhow So Lina and Kitty and Dick and Rob were 
helped into his boat, and the tliree small boats fastened astern, but 
Mrs. Cheston said she felt like the man who was put into the pa 


172 


CLOVER BEACH. 


lanquin which had no bottom, and who, after a lively trot to keep 
pace with the bearers, said if it wasn’t for the name of the thing 
he’d about as lief have walked ; she would almost as soon go in a 



sail-boat as be towed by one. Mrs. Heath said that was just the 
she felt, only she had been too bashful to say so; and Nora 
said she thought it was worse. So, with an indulgent smile for 
their weakness, Mr. Cheston said it wasn’t far to row, and if they 
would get into Charlie’s light boat he would row them, and the 





THE PICNIC. 


173 


Others could be towed if little Tom came with them, and Charlie 
would play father and see that nobody fell overboard. This was 
done, notwithstanding the shouts of “ Oh, mamma, it’s not the same 
at all r “You wouldn’t tip up, you know, ma’am “ You’ll not get 
there half as soon.” 

Mrs. Cheston and Mrs. Heath smiled serenely, and said they were 
in no hurry whatever. The sail-boat and its hangers-on made 
quick time to the island, and by the time the row-boat arrived the 
other boats had been unpacked and the contents stowed in a 
delightful cave which had been discovered the last time they were 
there. The shawls for the pavilion had been brought, and ropes 
for two or three swings, and the whole family entered with such 
zeal into playing that they were the “ Swiss Family Robinson” 
— accounting for the extra mother by pretending that the original 
mother had a “double” — that they were surprised by the sound of 
a dinner-horn, which, blown somewhere on the delightfully-distant 
mainland, set Lina to quoting Tennyson’s “ Bugle-Song,” of which 
they were all very fond, although Charlie told her the poet would 
never forgive her if he should hear of his “ Bugle-Song ” quoted 
apropos of a dinner-horn. 

Everybody flew at the baskets except those who gathered sticks 
and made the fire. They had begged so hard to do their own 
cooking that good-natured Mrs. Denison had provided a raw beef- 
steak for the exercise of their talents in that line, wisely putting in 
also plenty of cooked meat. Now, although Lina had for the past 


174 


CLOVER BEACH. 


year or two often made cake under her mother’s direction, and 
latterly without it, she had never undertaken to broil a steak before, 
and she grew flushed and irritable, as the grease would blaze up, and 
the meat would turn black before it was brown, and the gravy would 
run into the coals instead of waiting to be poured from the gridiron 
into the dish. The eager efforts of the other children to “ help ” 
only increased her irritation ; she scolded Kitty sharply for zeal- 
ously sprinkling some salt on the steak while it was still on the fire ; 
she let the coffee boil over while she was turning the steak; and 
when it was done at last, and she went to remove it from the grid- 
iron to the dish — which latter Dick was politely holding for her — 
her hands shook so that somehow the gridiron slipped and down 
went the steak into a bed of ashes ! There was a general howl 
from the children : “ Oh, Lina ! how could you ? When we’d cooked 
it ourselves and all !” 

“ It was just as much Dick’s fault as mine,” said Lina crossly, and 
nearly crying, “and if you hadn’t all bothered me to death it 
wouldn’t have happened.” And she marched indignantly off, leav- 
ing the unlucky steak to its fate. 

Nora and Kitty fished it out of the ashes, and washed it off with 
some boiling water from the kettle, but in spite of their good offices 
it was a melancholy-looking piece of meat, of which all felt much 
ashamed. 

“I never shall wonder again,” said Kitty, “when the cook at 
home gets cross and shoos us all out of the kitchen. I think it 


THE PICNIC. 


175 


must be the fire that does it : you know the boys say ‘ as mad as 
fire ’ when they mean very mad indeed.” 

Nora said nothing. Not many weeks ago she would have 
chuckled over Lina’s annoyance and anger, but they gave her no 
pleasure to-day. She did her best to “restore” the steak, resolv- 
ing not to let the grown-up people be called to dinner until she 
had coaxed Lina back again and peace as well as the steak was 
restored. 

Meanwhile, Dick had followed Lina into the wood, and, catching 
up with her, tried to take her hand. “ Dear Lina,” he said, “ I 
know I’m clumsy, but I’m very sorry I made you drop the steak. 
The girls are washing it off, and I don’t believe it’s spoiled ; so 
come back, there’s a dear, and let’s call them to dinner.” 

“ I don’t wish any dinner,” said Lina stiffly ; “ you need not wait 
for me. Go and call them if you like.” 

“ But, Lina,” said Dick, half crying, “ you’re spoiling all the 
fun, and this was to be the best day of all. Do come back.” 

“ It is not my fault that the fun is spoiled,” was Lina’s cold 
reply. “ If you had not all bothered me so it would not have 
happened at all.” And, turning resolutely from Dick, she walked 
av;ay. 

Dick threw himself down on the grass, too miserable to go 
back. He had no intention whatever of falling asleep, but he 
suddenly started up bewildered: Charlie was turning him over 
and calling his name. 


CLOVER BEACH. 


176 

“ Come, old fellow,” said Charlie, “ there’s a lady waiting to 
see you, and after that your dinner.” 

Lina came up and put her arms around Dick’s neck. Her 
eyes were red, but her face was gentle and sweet again. “Will 



you forgive me, Dick?” she whispered. “You didn’t make 
me drop the steak. I was unfair, and nearly told a real 
story.” 

Dick was very much overcome by Lina’s apology. “Dear 


THE PICNIC. 


77 


lady,” he said — they all called her “ lady ” and “ my lady ” when 
they were in a good-humor with her — “we did bother you awfully 
and I don’t wonder you got cross. I think we were all hungry 
for our dinners, anyhow.” 

Lina and Charlie couldn’t help laughing at this satisfactory 
accounting for the little breeze, but Lina’s heart was touched 
when she joined the rest by the fact that not the slightest allu- 
sion was made to it by them. Nora was feeling the pleasure of 
using for good the power which she had so often used for ill. 

Everything was ready, and there was great triumph among 
the small fry because the “ big people ” had, by special request, 
left the whole arrangement of the dinner to this band of amateur 
cooks and waiters. 

Every cake was wreathed in green leaves, a small bouquet of 
wild flowers lay at each plate, the cloth was spread on the grass 
just within the shade of the great trees, and all the arrangements 
met with the praise which they deserved. 

It had gone sorely “ against the grain ” with Martha to sit still 
and allow the children to do all the work, for Kitty and Rob 
had laughingly tied her to a tree with a daisy-chain, telling her 
that she was out for a holiday and should not so much as un- 
pack a hamper. But when dinner was over she could stand it 
no longer, and, tying on a large check apron with which she 
had thoughtfully provided herself over her clean print dress, 
she made short work of the dishes, for which the cooks had 


12 


78 


CLOVER BRACM. 


prudently hung on a kettle of water before they sat down to 
dinner. She kept three diligent “ wipers ” flying, and in half an 
hour after they left the table the last plate was wiped and the 
ceremonies were over for that meal. They had dined so late 
that they decided to have a “ handed tea,” the elegance of the 
idea pleasing Kitty and Rob particularly. 

The day had grown very warm, and there was a general 
sitting down under the trees after dinner, and then came the 
usual request for a story. 

Nora looked significantly at her mother. 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Cheston, smiling, “I have not forgotten telling 
you last night that I had a story ready, so if nobody else has one in 
his or her head just at this minute, I will tell mine, or at least begin 
it, and if it is too long for one sitting, half of it will keep quite well 
until another time.” 

Everybody was in haste to mention that their heads did not con- 
tain an idea of a story, except little Tom, who said, with a very serious 
expression on his chubby face, “ There is a story in my head, a very 
pretty story, and it is about a bear.” 

“ Very well,” said Mrs, Cheston ; “I don’t believe your story is as 
long as mine, so yoil may tell yours first, and I will tell mine after- 
ward.” 

“ Once there was a bear,” said Tom, looking thoughtfully on the 
ground. “ It was a very little bear, littler than I am, and it would 
not mind its bear- mother. So it got caught in a trap, and the 











I MADK I'r STOP SUCKING I rs I UrMP./* 


See Page i8i 













THE PICNIC. 


l8l 


man tied a string- round its neck and tied the other end of the 
string to the pump, and the little bear had to pump whenever any- 
body wanted a drink ; and then it was very sorry it had not minded 
its mother. So it told me if I would untie the string it would come 
and be my little bear; and I did, and it came. I let it sleep in my 
bed, and we played all day in the garden ; and I taught it to sing, 
and I made it stop sucking its thumb, and gave it cakes and apples 
and oranges and candy every day, and a great deal more on its 
birthday ; and it never had to pump at all ; and then it was very 
glad it had not minded its mother. That’s all.” 

And Tom looked serenely around amid the burst of applause 
with which the other children greeted the end of his story. 

“I wish Nora to make a picture of me and my bear,” said Tom 
when the applause subsided. “ I will take Dick for my bear : we 
used to sit this way ;” and he put his arm round Dick’s neck and 
posed for the picture. 

Amid great laughter Nora drew the picture, as well as she could 
with so inadequate a model, on the strip of smooth sand bordering 
the river, while Rob and Kitty and Polly eagerly questioned the 
romancer as to where he found the bear, where he kept it, and 
where it was now. 

“ It is where I go when I dream things,” he answered. “ I’m 
another little boy when I get there, and I have a great many things 
I don’t have here. I know how to fly when I’m there, and to swim 


too. 


i 82 


CLOVER BEACH. 


They all laughed at this, remembering how Tom had stood nearly 
a whole morning on the stairs, not more than a week ago, raising 
and lowering his little arms and saying over and over, with a puz- 
zled face, “I did fly last night! I did! I died from the ground to 
the roof, and from the roof to the ground.” 

The picture being finished to Tom’s satisfaction, mamma was told 
that it was her turn, and that the story must have a name, first of 
all. • 

“Very well,” she said, “after the sumptuous manner in which I 
have been waited upon to-day I can refuse no reasonable demands. 
I will call my story ‘ The Dove’s Mission.’ ” 

“That’s a lovely name,” said Kitty. “Begin, please, mamma.” 



CHAPTER X. 

THE BEGINNING OF A STORY AND END OF THE PICNIC. 

^ERTIE was the oldest, but she 
^ was only six years old when her 
dear mamma died, and could but 
just remember her. Pen, who came 
next, thought she could remember 
from hearing Bertie talk, but May 
and little Alice did not even think 
they could, and used to beg Bertie 
and Pen to tell them ‘ every single 
thing they could think of.’ 

“ It was not much. Mrs. For- 
rester had been an invalid for a 
year before her death, and to Bertie the memory was like a vision 
of an angel — a pale, sweet, loving face, a slender white-robed 
figure, a gentle voice, which she had never heard utter an un- 
kind or fretful word. These were Bertie’s recollections — these 
and a sad day, of which she never liked to speak, when the soft, 
caressing hand lay for the last time upon her head and the gentle 

183 



184 


CLOVER BEACH. 


voice said faintly, ‘Love God and papa and little sisters, darling, 
and live so that you and they may all come safely to the Father’s 
house.’ 

“After a while her papa had explained to her what she did 
not understand of these last words — how she was the oldest, and 
how Pen and May, and after a while little Alice, would, almost 
without knowing it, follow her example and be influenced by her 
life. 

“The home had not been broken up; a sister of Mr. Forres- 
ter’s, whom the children loved dearly, had come to live with 
them, and had watched over her little nieces with almost a 
mother’s care. But when Bertie was about twelve years old 
this beloved aunt, after nearly wearing out the patience of some- 
body who had been waiting for her, had gone to a home of her 
own. Mr. Forrester had talked a little about a housekeeper 
and governess, but the servants were honest and faithful, and 
the children had begged so earnestly to be allowed to go on 
attending school and to ‘ keep themselves ’ that he had allowed 
them to try the experiment. 

“So lon^ as the novelty lasted it seemed to work very well. 
Bertie felt extremely dignified sitting at the waiter morning and 
evening pouring out for her papa. She carefully sorted the 
clean clothes every week, laying aside those which needed mend- 
ing and patiently taking mending-lessons from the old seamstress 
who came once a week to ‘mend them all up,’ as Alice said. 


THE BEGINNING OF A STORY AND END OF THE PICNIC. 185 


She saw to the hands and faces and books and aprons every 

morning before school, and kept her own clothes and hair and 

nails so neat that she had no difficulty in inducing the little sisters 
to follow her example. Indeed, they looked upon Bertie as a 

sort of oracle, telling her their little plans and troubles in a 

way which touched and pleased her more than she knew her- 
self. 

“But there is a cruel old proverb which says that ‘New brooms 
sweep clean,’ and two or three months after Aunt Mary left 
them this particular little broom began to show signs of wearing 
out. Bertie had taken a special pride in always looking over 
the table the last thing before they sat down to a meal, but a 
new sort of fancy-work which suddenly came into fashion at 
school engrossed her so that she could hardly persuade herself 
to lay it down while she was at the table, much less five minutes 
before meal-times, and the dinners and breakfasts and suppers 
began to be what papa called ‘ promenade concerts.’ The wait- 
ress, who was also the chambermaid, was valued for her character 
rather than for her accomplishments, and seemed to think that 
one salt-cellar in the middle of the table was quite enough for 
five people, and that salt-spoons and butter-knives and butter- 
plates were unnecessary luxuries. 

“Papa was forbearing; he hoped that this frenzy about fancy- 
work might be only a passing thing, and he waited. He was 
obliged to be at his office all day, and he could not see how 


i86 


CLOVER BEACH. 


Bertie was gradually letting go one duty after another, although 
he noticed the slipshod look which was stealing over the parlor, 
and noticed it with pain, for the parlor had been almost as much 
Bertie’s pride as the table. The flowers had been freshly gathered 
or rearranged for it every day ; no dust or litter had disfigured 
it when he came home tired at five o’clock; papers and pamphlets 
were gathered up into orderly piles or put away in the bookcase ; 
and the wood-fire on andirons which everybody enjoyed so had 
always welcomed him with a merry blaze when there was the 
least excuse of chilliness in the air. 

“ Now the ashes and half-burnt wood were left untouched, 
sometimes for two or three days together ; dust gathered on the 
piano and mantelpiece, perhaps to be hastily half wiped off just 
before he came in, and perhaps not. The children’s clothes no 
longer looked fresh and whole, and the getting off to school 
every morning was a wild scramble for books and aprons and 
hats. 

“ Mr. Forrester spoke gently to Bertie more than once, and 
she cried and begged him to forgive her, and perhaps did a little 
better for a few days, and then ‘ backslid ’ again. 

“ While things were in this most uncomfortable state Mr. 
Forrester received a letter from his sister, saying that she would 

stop and spend a night at W on her way home from a visit she 

had been paying among her husband’s relatives. He said nothing 
about this to the children, for he wished his sister to see things 


THE BEGINNING OF A STORY AND END OF THE PICNIC. 187 


in their now usual condition, and he knew that Bertie, without 
intending any deceit, would put a very different face from its 
ordinary one on the neglected house to welcome the dear 
aunt. 

“ So there was quite as much consternation as joy in Bertie’s 
heart when one evening, just as they were sitting down to the 
uninviting-looking supper-table, the omnibus from the train drew 
up at their door and Aunt Mary stepped out. The warm wel- 
come which she received from everybody made her feel only 
deeper regret for the signs of disorder and neglect which were 
too numerous and too glaring to be overlooked. The supper 
was good and plentiful — the trustworthy old cook saw to that — 
but the tablecloth was soiled, the table only half set, and the 
children who surrounded it matched it a great deal too well. 

“Aunt Mary had not the heart to lecture anybody that evening 
when they all seemed so sincerely glad to see her, but Bertie 
noticed the pained look on her face when they went from the 
uncomfortable tea-table to the frowsy-looking parlor. One 
corner was littered with dolls and dolls’ dishes where Alice and 
May had been playing ‘ house ’ the evening before, for their 
house had remained unmolested through the day. A fire had 
been hastily kindled, but the hearth was unswept, and when 
Aunt Mary lifted the lamp while the table was being moved she 
found her fingers perfumed with kerosene. 

“‘You should wipe the lamps carefully, dear,’ she said to 


88 


CLOVER BEACH. 


Bertie ; ‘it is dangerous to leave them like this : in lighting the 
wick you might light the whole lamp.’ 

‘ I — I didn’t trim them to-day, aunty,’ said Bertie coloring. ‘ I 
suppose Ann did it, and she’s always in such a hurry.’ 

“Aunt Mary said nothing, and Bertie, after fidgeting around 
the table for a few minutes, suddenly burst out with, ‘I said I 
didn’t trim them to-day, aunty, as if I had done it yesterday and 
all the days before that; and I might just as well have told a 
real story, for I haven’t done it for — oh, for weeks !’ 

“Aunt Mary looked pleased. ‘That’s my honest girl!’ she 
said. ‘I have a great contempt for lies in general, but it is 
greatest for the lies which people contrive to tell without telling 
them. Now let me hear all about everything, and don’t be afraid 
of frightening me. You are not quite thirteen, and I didn’t 
expect you to work a miracle when you undertook to be house- 
mother: I told your father it was too much to expect of such a 
child.’ 

“Bertie was in two minds about this speech. She felt a great 
sense of relief that her aunt had anticipated her failure, and so 
could not reasonably be displeased with her for failing ; but morti- 
fied vanity forced the tears from her eyes, and there was some 
resentment in her voice as she said, ‘If you felt so sure I would fail. 
Aunt Mary, I don’t see why you and papa let me try.’ 

“ Aunt Mary took the poor little failure into her kind arms. They 
were alone by this time, for Mr. Forrester had gone to the library ; 


THE BEGINNING OF A STORY AND END OF THE PICNIC. 189 


Pen after begging so hard to sit up till aunty went to bed that her 
father had consented for once, had ingloriously fallen asleep in the 
corner of the sofa ; and Alice and May had been in bed for some 
time. So they had an old-fashioned talk. Bertie concealed nothing, 
and when her narrative was ended said meekly, ‘ What do you think 
papa ought to do with me, aunty ?” 

“‘My child,’ said Aunt Mary kindly, ‘your father and I both 
think you are too young for what you have undertaken. I thought 
so from the first, and although I can see — and think you can too — 
that you have allowed yourself to be defeated too easily, and have 
not relied enough upon that Strength which we may all have even 
for the commonest things, still, I do not think an unnecessary 
burden ought to be laid on your poor little shoulders; and we are 
going to make a fresh arrangement. It is nearly settled; your 
father and I have been corresponding about it for some time, and 
this is it. You remember your cousin Hannah Briggs, don’t you?’ 

“‘Yes,’ said Bertie, wonderingly: ‘she was here while dear 
mamma was ill, you know, and she came for a little visit last year ; 
and we children couldn't help being glad, though we knew It was 
wrong, when her daughter was taken ill, away out West somewhere, 
and she had to go sooner than she meant to.’ 

“‘But why were you glad to have her go?’ asked Aunt Mary 
with some surprise. 

“ ‘ Oh, I don’t exactly know,’ said Bertie reluctantly. ‘ She wore 
a wig, aunty — a sorrel wig — and she walked with a sort of a hitch, 


190 


CLOVER BEACH. 


and she said it was “ rheumatiz,” and she called papa “ Charles 
Henry,” and us “the young people,” as if there were about a thou- 
sand of us.’ 

“Aunt Mary laughed heartily. ‘Is that all?’ she asked; and 
Bertie fancied she looked relieved. ‘ My dear child,’ Aunt Mary 
continued, growing serious again, ‘your cousin Hannah is one of the 
best women in the world, and all these little foolish things are not 
worth mentioning. Have you forgotten the devoted kindness with 
which she helped to nurse your dear mamma? Nothing seemed to 
tire or annoy her while she could be useful. I have written to her. 
and she has consented to come and take charge of the house — ’ 

“Aunt Mary was interrupted by aery of distress from Bertie: 
‘ Oh, aunty, there will be no more comfort ! She will be at the 
table when we want papa all to ourselves, and in the way every- 
where.’ 

“ ‘ Now you are talking foolishly,’ said Aunt Mary very gravely. 
‘ and I will not try to argue with you while you are in this mood. 
1 will merely tell you the rest of the plan, and then we will go to 
bed, and I hope you will be more reasonable in the morning. Miss 
Wyatt is going to give up the school to which you have always 
gone, and no one else has offered to take it. Your father does not 
wish you to go to the public school ; so Cousin Hannah’s daughter, 
Ruth, is coming with her to be your governess. She is a very 
sweet young girl, and is only about twenty years old, but she has 
had a good education and loves children ; and we feel sure that it 


THE BEGINNING OF A STORY AND END OF THE PICNIC. IQl 


rests entirely with yourselves to be happy and contented in the new 
state of affairs.’ 

“ ‘ It doesn’t rest with ourselves,’ said Bertie passionately. 
‘ You have no right to do this, Aunt Mary. I shall ask papa 
and a burst of tears cut the sentence short. 

“‘My child,’ said Aunt Mary sorrowfully, ‘you are making a 
hard path for yourself to walk in.’ She said no more, but kissed 
the sobbing child good-night, waked Pen and went to bed 
herself. 

“ She was obliged to go home the next morning, and the tears 
rose to her eyes when Bertie and Pen sullenly and reluctantly 
kissed her good-bye. It was plain that Bertie had prejudiced 
Pen against the new arrangement, and Aunt Mary bestowed a 
heartfelt sigh upon the prospects of Cousin Hannah and Ruth. 

“ It was a prophetic sigh. I have not time to tell you of all 
that happened between, but must ‘ skip ’ you to a day two or 
three weeks after the house had been put into Cousin Hannah’s 
capable hands and the children into Ruth’s. Alice and May 
were happy little things, and had accepted the new government 
very tranquilly. They saw no objections to Cousin Hannah. 
To be sure, she kindly but firmly insisted upon having play- 
things restored to the play-room, hats and coats to hooks, shoes 
to shoe-bags, and books to shelves, but she kept up an unfailing 
supply of gingerbread: nobody was obliged to wait while spoons 
and napkins and salt-cellars were hastily put on the table ; the 


192 


CLOVER BEACH. 


house had an air of orderly comfort; and then, as Alice said, 
‘ she had such a great big lap !’ Ruth, too, found favor with 
these little people — she was so gentle, so merry, she entered so 
heartily into all their plays and plans ; and if she was somewhat 
strict in school-hours it was a strictness that had no harshness in it. 

“The household would have moved happily along on its new 
wheels but for Bertie. She maintained, day after day, her sullen 
and injured air. When Pen, who was a good-tempered child, 
showed signs of yielding to Cousin Hannah’s hearty kindness 
and Ruth’s gentle influence, Bertie talked her back again, and, 
unconsciously perhaps, exaggerated every change, every little 
annoyance, into an injury or an insult. 

“Sins are sociable things, and Bertie’s standard of right and 
wrong dragged sadly in the dust about this time. She could 
not refuse to study and walk and go through the form of playing 
with the other children, for her father, when he* found that rea- 
soning did no good, had become very stern, and she was afraid 
to disobey him. But her sullen face and reluctant manner 
marred many a pleasant hour for Ruth and the little sisters, and 
nothing but the patience which comes of earnest prayer could 
have made Ruth able to persevere. This patience was not lost 
upon Bertie: try as she would, she could not shut her eyes to 
the beauty of Ruth’s character and the unfailing gentleness 
which marked her words and looks; and the hard ground was 
being broken for the seeds of repentance and reparation. 


THE BEGINNING OE A STORV AND EHD OE THE PICNIG. 


“ God has many ways in which to help His faithful servants, and 
help came to Ruth from one of the ‘ birds of the air’ about which 
our Saviour seemed to love to speak. In one of the long country 
rambles on which Ruth often took the children they met with an 
adventure. They were just turning from a shady wood-path into 
the open road when they heard angry voices in the edge of the 
wood, and presently two boys, about twelve or thirteen years old, 
appeared, carrying between them a cage slung on a stick. Crouch- 
ing on the floor of the cage was a beautiful wood-pigeon ; one 
wing drooped as if broken, and its beautiful frightened eyes seemed 
turned imploringly toward the children. 

“ They gathered eagerly about the cage, asking a dozen questions, 
but the boys had suddenly stopped quarrelling and stood silent, 
looking a good deal ashamed. A few gentle questions from Ruth 
brought out their story : they had set a snare and caught and sold 
several birds, but in taking this one from the snare the younger boy 
had broken its wing. The older one had wished to kill it rather 
than be troubled with the care of it, and it was about this that they 
had quarrelled, for the younger one, more pitiful than the other, had 
insisted on taking the bird home and trying to save its little life. 

“ Alice sprang forward and caught the larger boy by the hand. 
‘ Oh, please,’ she exclaimed, ‘ I have two dollars in my bank at 
home, and you shall have one and he shall have one if you’ll give 
me the dear little bird to nurse and make well — will you ?’ 

“ ‘ I’m not quite so mean as all that,’ said the big boy, somewhat 

13 


194 


CLOVER BEACH. 


sulkily ; ‘ you’re welcome to the bird : it’s worth nothing to me, and 
he will be glad enough to be rid of the trouble of it, for all he was 
so fierce about it.’ 

“‘Well, suppose I will,’ said the other boy; ‘I wasn’t going to 
keep it just for fun, but I wasn’t mean enough to kill it after I’d 
hurt it.’ 

“ Ruth saw an opening here for a few gentle words about the 
cruelty of the business, and, although the boys would not promise 
to give it up, they listened respectfully, and said they would think 
about it. They willingly agreed to lend Alice the cage to carry the 
dove home, saying they could call for it the next day, but refused to 
sell it, although Alice once more offered both her dollars. 

“The little girl could not help feeling very happy in her new 
possession, and could hardly be induced to let Ruth help her carry 
it. She pitied the poor little frightened bird, which had fluttered up 
to the perch in the cage, but she felt quite sure that papa could cure 
it, for had he not mended tlie kitten’s broken leg and cured old 
Watch’s lame foot? So she chattered happily all the way home, 
while May sympathized and planned with her; and it was all Bertie 
could do to keep Pen — and herself too, for that matter — from turn- 
ing round and joining in the eager talk. They managed to walk 
dignifiedly on in front, with only an occasional backward glance 
when they thought nobody was looking. 

“ But Pen was tired of being dignified, and that night, after she 
and Bertie had gone to bed, she ‘ freed her mind.’ ‘ See here, Bert 


THE BEGINNING OF A STORY AND END OF THE PICNIC, 1 95 


Forrester !’ she said, sitting straight up by way of emphasis, and 
thereby pulling the clothes off Bertie in a very disagreeable way. 
‘you can keep on behaving like a poker to Cousin Hannah .and 



Cousin Ruth if you see any sense in it, b it I don’t, and I don’t mean 
to do it any longer. We’re just as comfortable as comfortable ; and 
you must have been too little to keep house, I think ; and I don’t see 
why you made such a fuss : it’s papa’s house, anyhow. And I mean 
to say I’m sorry all around to-morrow, and be pleasant — at least as 
pleasant as I was before. So good-night ;’ and Pen popped down as 
suddenly as she had popped up, and was asleep in five minutes. 



196 


CLOVER BEACH. 


“And Bertie? She lay wide awake for an hour in the sweet 
summer darkness, fighting- her conscience. Once more she seemed 
to hear the faint, loving voice saying, ‘ Love God and papa and 
little sisters, darling, and live so that you and they may all come 
safely to the Father’s house.’ 

“Was this living so? But she had been set aside; her kingdom 
had been taken from her; her sisters were learning to love Cousin 
Hannah and Ruth better than they loved her. 

“‘Oh, mamma! mammal’ she sobbed, 'you would have given 
me another chance.’ And she cried herself to sleep.” 

“I regret very much to interrupt the court,” said Mr. Cheston, 
“but if we are to return to civilization to-night, and have tea her(t 
before we begin to return, the rest of the narrative must needs be 
postponed.” 

“Oh, papa! just as we were coming to the dove!” cried Kitty, 
and the rest of the children remonstrated with equal eloquence. 

“The dove will not fly away until we have time to finish its 
history,” said Mrs. Cheston, smiling; “and papa is quite right, as he 
generally is” — papa bowed profoundly — “for it is after five o’clock 
now, and there is no obliging sail-boat at hand to tow us home.” 

So there was a merry bustle over the “handed tea,” about which 
Martha insisted upon helping, and papa declared that a great deal 
too much bread and butter was eaten for so fashionable an enter- 
tainment. 


THE BEGINNING OF A STORY AND END OF THE PICNIC. 107 


They were about finishing' the packing of baskets and bundles 
into the boats when Charlie cried, “ A sail ! a sail !” and there was 
their friend of the morning just coming in sight from somewhere up 
the river. He signalled energetically to them with his red pocket- 
handkerchief, and they waited patiently, sure that they were to be 
towed home, and employing the time by persuading the timid ones 
to allow themselves to be towed “just this once.” 

The river was like glass, there was barely enough wind to move 
the boat, and Mr. Cheston promised solemnly to cast off the uniting 
line the moment they should feel alarmed ; so they graciously con- 
sented, and were candid enough to admit that their fears had been 
orroundless. 

Their friend of the sail-boat expressed great pleasure at having 
“caught” them. He had been working at a farm some distance up 
the river, and had hurried away without his supper, as they dis- 
covered upon cross-examining him on the subject, in order that he 
might tow them home. So the baskets, which fortunately, owing to 
Mrs. Denison’s bountiful providing, were not quite empty, were 
rifled for his benefit, and Mr. Cheston and Charlie managed the 
boat while its master made a hearty supper of sandwiches and cake. 
To the children’s great delight, he “joined in ” when they began to 
sing — with a voice of rather more power than sweetness, but the 
power was just what they wanted: they were very desirous that 
every one living along both banks should hear them. 

They found Mrs. Denison sound asleep on the piazza of the 


198 


CLOVER BEACH. 


farm-house, and Charlie, motioning the rest to be silent, stepped 
softly up and kissed her rosy cheek. She woke, exclaiming, 
“ Gracious !” in a tone of such utter horror that the children 
laughed with delight, and Kitty exclaimed, “It’s your ship. Aunty 
Denison ; it’s just come in, and we are the passengers, and you owe 
the captain a pair of gloves.” 

'"Did your ship come in?” said Polly; “because if it didn’t 
you might just as well have gone; and if it did we want to see 
what it brought you — right away.” 

“Yes, it did,” answered Mrs. Denison, nodding her head 
mysteriously, “but you can’t see the passengers until to-morrow; 
they’ve gone to bed — you know folks are always very tired 
after a voyage — and they can’t be disturbed to-night on any ac- 
count.” 

“ Did it bring anything besides passengers ?” “ How many 
passengers were there ?” “ Are they little girls and boys ?” “ Do 
they speak English?” were some of the questions which were 
showered upon Mrs. Denison before she could answer any of 
them. 

“You shall see the passengers to-morrow,” was all she would 
say, “and you shall have some of the freight for your break- 
fast.” 

No amount of questioning would make her tell anything 
more, and she said she thought they were rather shabby. Here 
she had been sitting up, waiting for an account of the picnic, 


THE BEGINNING OF A STORY AND END OF THE PICNIC. 1 99 


and not one word had she heard — not even if her cake was 
good ! She got plenty of accounts after that, and praise enough 
of her various good things to make her vain for ever after, 
she said; and then the mothers carried off their treasures, 
saying there would be no getting anybody up the next 
morning. 

Lina told her mother, before she slept, how she had given 
way to her temper on the island, and how, but for the forbear- 
ance and kindness of the others, the day would have been 
spoiled. “I feel all discouraged, mamma,” she said sadly; “it 
seems to me I get worse all the time. Just think of my losing 
control of myself, and speaking that way to dear little Dick, 
because I couldn’t make the steak cook right ! It was so 
childish !” 

“Dear daughter,” said her mother, “you must not be discour- 
aged. So long as you see your fault, and do not attempt to 
justify yourself, I shall feel hopeful, and you may be very sure 
that I am praying for you every day. The only way is to try 
harder. When you feel your temper rising, if you can go 
away by yourself, and if you cannot do that keep resolutely 
silent: we often regret having spoken, but we very rarely 
have reason to regret having been silent. And it ought to 
comfort you to think that Nora’s forbearance to-day was prob- 
ably the result of your forgiveness and forbearance when she 
hurt your feelings so with that picture: she does not say 


200 


CLOVER BEACH. 


much, but I don’t think she ever forgets anything of that 
kind.” 

“You are the best mother in the world!” said Lina, hugging 
and kissing Mrs. Cheston for good-night, “ and I don’t mean to 
be discouraged while you don’t give me up.” 



CHAPTER XI. 



THE “ PASSENGERS,” AND THE END OF THE 
STORY. 

OMEHOW, though, nobody had to be called 
more than once the next morning, or told to 
hurry with dressing, and the breakfast bell’s 
summons was obeyed with exemplary prompt- 
ness. There was a general groan of disap- 
pointment when the breakfast was found to 
consist of some balloon-like clam-fritters and 
some tempting-looking broiled fish. 

“I hope nobody here may ever be sufficiently 
starved to remember groaning over a break- 
fast like this,” said Mrs. Cheston as she took her seat 
at the waiter. 

“ But, mamma. Aunty Denison said we should have 
the freight of her ship for breakfast,” said Kitty mourn- 
fully, “and I thought it would be oranges and lemons and bananas 
and pineapples, and maybe some wonderful things I had never 
seen at all.” 

The rest laughed at Kitty’s sorrowful face, but even Lina and 




202 


CLOVER BEACH. 


Charlie admitted that they had expected to see tropical fruit, and 
perhaps guava-jelly. 

The “freight” did not have full justice done it, at least by the 
young ones, for they were so eager to get hold of Mrs. Denison 
and make her disclose her mystery that they could hardly be per- 
suaded to eat at all. 

They were a good deal surprised when she led the way to the 
barn, and still more when they saw Martha’s favorite cat reposing 
in an old hamper filled with soft hay, while three little squirrels, not 
more than half grown and so pretty that everybody wanted to get 
hold of them at once, frisked about freely over the old cat’s back, 
while she looked at them with the indulgent fondness and pride 
which cats usually bestow only on their own children. 

After the oh-ing and ah-ing had subsided a little, and the ques- 
tions had all been asked, Mrs. Denison proceeded to explain ; “You 
know a few weeks ago old Tabby had three kittens? Well, I didn’t 
tell you, because I knew you’d be just as sorry as I was, what hap- 
pened to them day before yesterday. We couldn’t keep but one, 
for you know there’s three cats besides Tabby now, and Martha 
chose the white one, but she didn’t separate them ; she thought 
she’d wait till Sam was ready to drown the other two ; and he 
thought she’d taken out the one she meant to keep, and he went 
and drowned the whole three !” 

“ Oh !” in various tones of horror and regret from the eight. 

“I did feel too sorry for that old cat. She went mourning ’round, 



THREE LITTLE SQUIRRELS FRISKED OVER THE CAT’S BACK 


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THE '‘PASSENGERS," AND THE END OF THE STORY. 205 


looking everywhere for them, and wouldn’t be comforted, and 
wouldn’t even eat. I didn’t know what to do. I went round to the 
neighbors, till they must have thought I was crazy, trying to borrow 
a kitten, but it just happened that there wasn’t one to be had for 
love or money. So I gave it up, and tried to comfort Tabby by 
feeding her, but she’d hardly touch even cream. Yesterday morn- 
ing, after you’d gone, I told Sam I wished he’d take the old boat and 
go down to the inlet for some clams and crabs and fish. We hadn’t 
used that old boat all summer, for your father’s so kind he’s lent one 
of yours to Sam every time we wanted one ; but yesterday, you 
know, you had ’em all up the river. So I told him he’d have to bale 
the boat out ; it was lying a good piece up the shore, under the 
trees, you know. He hadn’t been gone ten minutes when he came 
running back all out of breath with something gathered up in his 
hat, ‘Aunt Sally,’ says he, ‘look what I’ve found in the old boat!’ 
and there he had those three cunning little squirrels. He said 
when he jumped in to bale out the boat he saw something he 
thought was a water-rat creep out of the locker in the stern, where 
there was a board off, and run along the edge of the boat. He 
threw a stone at it, of course, boy-like, and by some accident he hit 
it, and it wasn’t till it tumbled over into the water dead that he saw 
it was a pretty little striped squirrel. So then he looked in the 
locker, and there, in a nest of leaves and grass, were those three ; 
and, as good luck would have it, he caught them before they had 
sense enough to run. The minute I saw them I just said, ‘There! 


206 


CLOVER BEACH. 


there’s a new kind of kittens for our old cat;’ and, sure enough, 
when I put them in a box, and then put her in, she me-owed and 
licked them and went on as if she was cracked for joy, and they 
cuddled up to her, not the least bit afraid, and seemed to think she 
was their mother. When I brought ’em out here I put a hen-coop 
over ’em at first, but they seemed so tame, and the hen-coop wor- 
ried the old cat so much, that I just gave her the hamper she’d had 
the kittens in ; and she’s as happy as a queen.” 

The adopted children had retained enough of their wild 
nature to decline entirely the most persuasive offers to pick 
them up, but after a few days, when they had become accus- 
tomed to seeing the children, they became almost as tame as 
the unfortunate kittens which had resigned in their favor, and 
the children counted that day lost in which a visit had not been 
made to this happy family. 

When the excitement over this last novelty had somewhat 
subsided, and Mr. Cheston and Charlie and Dick had been seen 
off for a blue-fishing expedition, various pieces of more or less 
war-worn fancy-work were produced, and Mrs. Cheston was 
mildly but firmly requested to “go on with the dove.” She 
suggested that perhaps Charlie and Dick would reproach her, 
but as all six of her children, and Nelly Heath besides, promised 
to “give them the sense of it” if they desired to hear it, she 
allowed herself to be persuaded and went on : 

“The little dove became for several days the chief object of 


THE "PASSENGERS:' AND THE END OF THE STORY. 207 


thought and conversation among Mr. Forrester’s children — among 
all, that is, excepting Bertie, for Pen had been as good as her 
word, and laid down the small arms which she had taken up 
solely under Bertie’s influence the morning after her straight- 
forward declaration that she would do so. Cousin Hannah 
and Ruth took no notice in words of Pen’s submission, but the 
children observed that Cousin Hannah ‘switched off’ from some 
tedious preserving and canning to make a batch of gingerbread 
that day, and Ruth put her arm very tenderly around Pen’s 
square shoulders when that young lady, for the first time, offered 
her a good-morning kiss as the other two children did. 

“ Bertie watched it all with bitterness in her heart and on her 
face. She refused to let Pen take her arm that afternoon when 
they went to walk, and nothing but the fear of attracting her 
father’s notice held her back from positive rudeness to both 
Cousin Hannah and Ruth. When we are thoroughly ‘out of 
sorts ’ and uneasily conscious, underneath all our indignation 
against other people, that we are ourselves making the false 
notes which set the whole tune jarring, we are exactly in the 
state to be taken advantage of by the ever-ready Tempter and 
drawn on to put into words or open acts the wicked feelings 
which the grace of God would have enabled us to stamp out 
if we had but asked for it and then gone to work ourselves. 
Bertie knew that she was all wrong — that Cousin Hannah and 
Ruth had not been brought there for a punishment to her, but 


2o8 


CLOVER REACH. 


because her own unfaithfulness had made it necessary that faith- 
ful hands should take her duties. Like many other people, she 
felt quite equal to being a ruler over many things, without con- 
sidering that she had not fulfilled the requirement and been 
faithful over a few things. 

“So, when Cousin Hannah’s strong, kind hands took the little 
fluttering, frightened dove and tenderly bound up the wounded 
wing — which, to the joy of all, was found to be unbroken — 
although Bertie fairly ached with pity and interest, and she 
longed to help, or at least look on, she pretended to be reading 
so busily as to be quite unconscious of everything but her book ; 
and it did not occur to her that her temper and false pride were 
leading her into one small deceit after another, and that an 
acted lie is quite as much a lie as a spoken one is. 

“ All that day she was obliged, according to the plan she had 
laid down for herself, to appear indifferent when the other 
children fluttered around the cage which held the little dove. 
Alice’s delighted cry of, ‘It’s eating! — Oh, Bertie I dear Bertie! 
please come and see my little dove eating crumbs !’ was answered 
by a cold ‘ Don’t you see that I am studying my lesson, Alice ^ 
I wish you would not make such a fuss about your dove.’ 

“The child, disappointed, turned eagerly to Ruth for sym- 
pathy, and this, in turn, sent another jealous pang through 
Bertie’s heart. 

“The boys had called for the cage early in the day, and 


THE "PASSENGERS:' AND THE END OF THE STORY. 


209 


Ruth, by her kind manner and gentle words, had managed to 
secure a promise to give up the bird business from the on 
who had wished to spare the dove. The other boy could only 
be induced to say that he would think about it, but both had 
promised to call the next day, for Ruth had heard Mr. Forrester 
say that the strawberry-bed must be weeded, and she promised 
to ask him to let them have the job. 

“ Bertie, sitting quietly in the porch, heard the whole con- 
versation, and thought jealously, ‘ Papa knows whom to get to 
weed the garden, I should think. She’ll be telling him whom he 
had better ask to dinner next thing.’ 

“And her jealousy gave her another pinch that evening at 
the tea-table, for Mr. Forrester entered heartily into Ruth’s 
plan, and said that when the strawberry-bed was weeded, if 
they had done it well and could bring a written recommendation 
as to honesty, he could keep them busy picking blackberries and 
gathering up fallen apples long enough to give them a good 
start, and convince them that there were other profitable indus- 
tries besides bird-catching. 

“ Bertie was in her usual place at the head of the table, for 
her father, with kind consideration for her feelings, had, when 
Cousin Hannah first came, privately stipulated that Bertie should 
continue to ‘pour out,’ for he knew how much pleasure it gave her, 
and she had always been careful and attentive in this duty even 
when she failed in others. But to-night, when she felt choked with 

14 


CLOVER REA CL/. 


il6 


bitter feelings, she was careless of what she was doing. She 
sent her father his first cup of tea unsweetened, and when he 
made a wry face at the first taste, and then laughed and asked 
what he had done that his allowance of sugar was thus suddenly 
cut off, she said pettishly, ‘ I’m sure I sweetened it, papa ; you 
didn’t half stir it.’ 

“ ‘ Taste it yourself, my little daughter,’ said her father gently, 
handing up his cup; and Bertie, after a vigorous stir, tasted, 
colored violently, and then put in two such heaping spoonfuls 
of sugar that the tea was quite as undrinkable as it had been 
without any. 

“ Her manner as she again took the cup grieved her father 
to the heart. He would not reprove her before the assembled 
family, for he was watching with deep and tender pity the 
struggle through which she was passing; but when, before tea 
was over. May answered something he said almost as disrespect- 
fully and pettishly as Bertie had spoken, he felt that he could 
not let the little ones be influenced for ill without interfering. 
He had hoped that Bertie’s conscience would bring her out of 
the tangled path which was leading her farther and farther from 
home ; but conscience can be smothered, and Bertie was resolute- 
ly smothering hers. 

“Her father put his arms around her as .they left the tea-table 
and drew her into the library. He talked to her long and tenderly ; 
he reminded her of her mother’s last words, and told her how her 


THE "PASSENGERS," AND THE END OF THE STORY 


21 I 


influence and example must lead the children one way or the other, 
even if they did not mean to follow her; and he asked her, quietly 
and seriously, what was the cause of all the bitterness and jealousy 
which she had shown about Cousin Hannah and Ruth. 

“ Bertie had remained stubbornly silent, but she burst out now 
with, ‘ Cousin Hannah has no right here, papa. It was to me that 
mamma left you and the children and the house, and if you would 
only have given me another chance I would have done better. I 
had resolved about it the very evening, the very minute, when Aunt 
Mary told me of this hateful plan ; and you might have let me try 
again.’ 

‘“My poor little daughter,’ said Mr. Forrester gently, ‘how many 
resolutions had you made and broken, and in whose strength were 
they, and even that last one, made?’ 

“Bertie did not answer, and Mr. Forrester went on : ‘It grieves 
me to the heart to say what I must say to you, my child, but there 
is no help for it. Unless you can come to repentance and a better 
mind after the exhibition of temper which took place to-night at 
the table, you must give up your charge to Cousin Hannah, at least 
for the present, for I cannot have the children hurt by your example. 
You heard how May spoke to me ; she would not have done it had 
she not felt authorized by what you said. Whenever I can feel that 
it will be right I shall be only too glad — and so, I know, will Cousin 
Hannah — to welcome you back to your old place; but until I see 
the change for which I am hoping it must be given up.’ 


212 


CLOVER BEACH. 


“Bertie turned without a word, and rushed out of the library^ 
Hot anger dried her tears, and, snatching her hat from the rack, 
she flew down the garden, out of the gate which led to the orchard, 
and at last threw herself on the soft grass at the foot of a tree. ‘ I 
will not bear it !’ she panted. ‘ They have set papa against me, and 
now nobody cares about me any more. If I knew where to go I 
would run away.’ 

“The sound of voices on the other side of the high fence which 
separated the orchard from a country road made her pause to listen. 
She heard a voice which she recognized as that of the younger of 
the two boys who had caught the dove. He was saying stoutly, 
‘No, I won’t, and you won’t either: I’ll fight you first. First it was 
to lie for you, and now it’s to steal for you, and there’s no knowing 
what it ’ll be next. They were kind to us only this morning, and if 
you put your foot on that fence I’ll raise such a row that they’ll all 
be out here.’ 

“ ‘You daresn’t,’ said the other defiantly. 

“ ‘ I dare, then ; you’ll see if I don’t,’ answered the first, boldly. 

“ ‘ Oh, you’re green ; I was only fooling. Come on,’ said the 
larger boy in a joking tone of voice. 

As they passed on Bertie heard the younger boy say doggedly, 
‘You’d better not fool quite so much like earnest, then.’ 

“ Bertie had a curious sensation, as if she had been red hot 
and had been suddenly plunged into cold water. Somehow, the 
words, ‘There’s no tellingr what it ’ll be next,’ ranor in her ears. 


THE "PASSENGERS," AND THE END OF THE STORY. 


213 


Where was she going? What was she doing? Where was all 
the goodness of which she had felt so sure only a month or two 
ago when one of the neighbors had told her what a wonderful 
thing it was for a child of her age to be keeping house for her 
father and taking such good care of the children ? She seemed 
suddenly to see where she was standing. With a heart full of 
hatred and jealousy toward two innocent people, who were 
quietly doing all they could for the comfort and happiness of 
those whom she had professed to love so dearly, but whose 
comfort she had selfishly neglected ; hardening herself against 
her father’s loving forbearance; injuring her little sisters — whom 
it was her place to help and encourage in the right way — by 
the example of her evil temper ; — it was a dark record, and 
she turned from it afraid, but still trying to justify herself, to 
make herself out the injured one. 

“But conscience had been roused, and pointed back to the 
beginning of trouble — to a night when, annoyed because her 
father had insisted upon her going to bed at the usual hour, 
she had taken up with her the book in which she was interested, 
and read until the striking of one o’clock had frightened her 
into bed. She had meant to say her prayers in bed, but sleep 
had overtaken her before they were well begun. She had over- 
slept herself the next morning, postponed her prayers until after 
breakfast, and been shocked, when she went to bed that night 
to remember that she had not said them at all. That was the 


214 


CLOVER BEACH. 


beginning; from that day careless deeds and omissions of duty 
had multiplied. ‘We have no power of ourselves to help 
ourselves,’ and if we refuse the help which is so freely offered, 
we are indeed helpless. 

“But Bertie’s stubborn will still refused to submit and let her 
make the apology and, so far as she could, the reparation which 
she felt that she owed. She rose from the grass, which was now 
wet with dew, thoroughly chilled and crept miserably back to 
the house and into bed. She had not discontinued the form of 
saying her prayers, but to-night they seemed to choke her, and 
she lay down at last with a line out of a poem she had lately 
read saying itself over in her mind; 

‘ Stand off ! she sleeps, and did not pray.’ 


“She waked in the morning feeling feverish and restless, with 
a sore throat from lying on the damp grass. It was very early, 
and the house was so still that she wondered what had wakened 
her until she heard a plaintive sound from the next room, where 
May and Alice slept. 

“ It was the dove, whose cage Alice had carried up the night 
before that she might see it when she first woke in the morning. 
If you have ever happened, in a quiet wood, to hear the cooing 
of a dove, you will not wonder that the tender, mournful sound 
went to Bertie’s heart. To her excited imagination it seemed 
like the gentle voice of her mother, reproaching, pitying, for- 


THE "PASSENGERS," AND THE END OF THE STORY. 


215 


giving, all at once. She dropped on her knees by the bedside, 
sobbing out, ‘ Oh, mamma ! mamma ! I hope you cannot see 
what a wicked girl I am ; it would make you too unhappy. She 
cannot hear me ! she cannot hear me !’ 

“ Some one lightly crossed the floor ; it was Ruth, who, wak- 
ened and alarmed by Bertie’s sobs, had hastened to see what 
was the matter. In a moment she was kneeling by the poor 
child ; her kind arms embraced the shivering little figure and her 
gentle voice whispered, ‘ No, but the dear Saviour can. He is 
always ready, always waiting for us to come to Him ; we will ask 
for His help now.’ 

“ Bertie said ‘ Amen ’ out of a full heart to Ruth’s few words of 
earnest prayer, and as soon as they rose from their knees she 
begged Ruth’s forgiveness, humbly promising to try to be a differ- 
ent girl. 

“ Ruth could scarcely wait for her to finish, but took her in her 
arms, kissing her heartily, and then tucked her up in bed, and 
dressing hastily, went to call Cousin Hannah, for she saw that Ber- 
tie was feeling ill. 

“ The little girl had taken a heavy cold, and for two or three days 
Cousin Hannah was kept busy nursing and doctoring; and when 
Bertie came down stairs again it was a very different Bertie from 
the one who had last sat at the tea-table before her short illness. 
There had been long talks with papa in the sick-room ; the past was 
forgiven, and hope and comfort were in the little heart which had 


216 


CLOVER BEACH. 


been so full of despair. Cousin Hannah had been made happy by 
the surrender of that stubborn heart, and felt at last that she could 
mother all the children : it had been a great pain to her to have to 
leave out one. And Alice met full sympathy now when she turned 
to Bertie in delight at the ‘ ways ’ of the little dove. 



“ It had grown quite tame, its wing was nearly well, and the only 
trouble was that Alice felt as if she ought to give it its freedom. 
As Bertie watched the gentle creature, so patient in its captivity, she 
thought that it was no wonder that the Holy Spirit had chosen this 
form in which to appear ; and her heart was filled with grief and 







THE ••PASSENGERS," AND THE END OF THE STORY. 


219 


shame as she remembered how she had rebelled against the whole- 
some restrictions which a father’s love had placed upon her, when 
she saw the gentle submission of the little captive. 

“ But Alice did not mean to hold her prisoner long. It was a 
hard struggle to give it up, but she felt that it had a right to its 
freedom ; and one sunny September day a solemn procession 
marched down the garden with the cage — Ruth, the four little 
sisters, and a little neighbor-friend, who had also learned to love 
the dove, and who, while she begged Alice to keep it in the cage, 
wanted to see what it would do when it was released. Ruth 
patiently held the cage upon her lap while last looks were taken, 
new beauties pointed out, and a general lamentation made. 

“ But lamentations are frequently very useless things, and this 
one proved particularly so. The dove flew away to the orchard, 
where it sat all day cooing softly to itself ; the next morning and 
every morning afterward for many weeks it perched on the railing 
of the piazza, turning its pretty head from side to side while the 
children scattered crumbs. It flew down to eat the offered break- 
fast, and hovered between the house and orchard all day. Many a 
time through that golden autumn did its tender, plaintive voice keep 
Bertie reminded of her weakness, and the Help which waited to turn 
it into strength, and she loved to fancy that the soft notes shaped 
themselves to her mother’s last words, ‘ Love God and papa and 
little sisters, darling, and live so that you and they may all come 
safely to the Father’s house.’ ” 


220 


CLOVER BEACH. 


“ I am very glad that they let the dove out,” said Kitty with a 
deep sigh as her mother stopped — “glad for the dove, that is — but 
it must have been dreadfully hard to let it go. Mamma, was that 
the ‘dove let loose in Eastern skies’ that you used to sing about?” 

But before mamma could explain that that was an entirely 
different dove, not related in any way to this one, the shouts of 
the returning fishermen were heard. They had found the sun 
so hot and the fish so excessively coy that they had come back 
in time for dinner, instead of staying all day, as they had at first 
intended ; and when questioned as to the number of blue-fish 
they had caught they said the fish were entirely too large to 
bring home, and they had left them in the sea. So, after dinner, 
a blackberrying expedition was organized, and they all strolled 
through the wood to the shady lane where, the children asserted, 
the fruit was “as thick as blackberries.” And so it was, but it 
was a good deal more red than black, and the older people said 
they found it much pleasanter to sit in the shade under the great 
trees than to hunt for blackberries which grew about six to the 
acre. Dick and Rob and Polly and little Tom — who, having put 
his hat in the river for a boat, and been very much disgusted 
when the swift current carried it off, was decorated with an old 
sun-bonnet of Martha’s, which, to his further disgust, made him 
look “ like a girl ” — picked industriously, although there was no 
evidence of their industry besides four alarmingly-black tongues 
and forty equally black fingers. But it was very pleasant just 



■THE CHILDREN’S HEARTS WERE SADDENED BY FINDING A DEAD BIRD/ 


Pacr#» OOT. 



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THE "Passengers:' and the end of the story. 


223 


to be out of doors and be alive. Nobody seemed to care much 
whether there were blackberries or not. The hearts of the 
little people were saddened, however, before the afternoon was 
over by a dead bird which they found under a tree. It was a red- 
bird, and its brilliant plumage, as it lay among the grass, 
attracted their attention. There were marks among the pretty 
leathers which looked very much as if a cat had been the 
murderer, and Kitty and Polly threatened bread-and- water and 
imprisonment to Tripod and the other kitten, which, much to 
Polly’s regret, was still nameless. 

“No,” said Mr. Cheston, “‘it is their nature as I used to 
say when I was a small boy. I remember very well,” he went 
on, “ how I felt when I first saw a dead bird, although I could 
not have been more than four years old at the time. My heart 
was completely broken, and I carried it to my little sister, who 
was older than I was by several years, and who could do so 
many things that I could not that I believed she could ‘ cure ’ 
my poor little limp and lifeless bird. She could only cry with 
me ; but she did that, bless her little heart !” and papa looked 
off into the sunset sky, while Kitty whispered to Polly, “That 
was our dear little aunt, who died before she was as old as 
Lina.” 


CHAPTER XII. 


MRS. HEATH’S STORY. 

"PHE time was drawing near when Nelly and 
her mother must go, and Mrs. Heath had 
managed, as the children said, “to get out of 
telling a story ” so often that one morning, soon 
after Mr. Cheston’s holiday-week ended, she 
was surrounded so that escape was impossible, 
and so touchingly petitioned that she yielded. 
“ But I can only tell you something that I 
have read,” she said ; “ I never made up a 
story in my life.” 

“ Of course you didn’t,” said Kitty ; adding 
virtuously, “ Martha says, 

* Truth may be blamed, 

But a lie will be shamed.’ ’’ 

Mrs. Heath laughed. “ Must my story have a name ? The 
name is often the hardest part of the story to find.” 

“Oh yes, it must have a name,” said Polly, “or there won’t be 
anything to remember it by.” 

224 






MRS. HEATH RELATING THE STORY OF “EFFIE*S MEMBERSHIP." 

See Page 227. 




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MRS. HEATH'S STORY. 


227 


“You are very hard taskmasters,” said Mrs. Heath. “I shall just 
tell you the story, and leave you to name it anything you like after- 
ward. It was in one of my books when I was a small girl, and I 
read it over many times, because it was a favorite one with me, but 
I have forgotten the name — No, I haven’t, either ; it has come 
back to me. But I don’t promise to give it word for word, except 
some verses in it ; I think I remember every verse I ever learned. 
Now, you needn’t ask me to recite them all : I see it in your faces. 
This story is positively my valedictory, for we are going next week, 
you know, and it is a good long one, and it was called Effie’s 
Membership.” And Mrs. Heath thus began her story : 

“‘And every one members one of another,’” repeated Effie, 
slowly. “ I don’t quite understand that, mamma. Members — that 
means arms and legs and head, and it means people of one family ; 
but how can we be ‘members one of another’?” 

“ I think,” said Mrs. Ashton, “ that in a sense it means both sorts 
of members. You know what that hymn of which you are so fond 
says : 

‘ Angels, and living saints and dead, 

But one communion make : 

All join in Christ, their vital Head, 

And of His love partake.’ 

Christ’s people are what the body is to the head. He plans and 
orders and directs for them, and if they truly love Him, they carry 


228 


CLOVER BEACH. 


out His designs just as promptly and fully as your feet obey your 
wishes when you start to go up stairs You do not stop and think, ‘ I 
will move first my right foot, then my left foot, then my right again 
you just do it ‘instinctively,’ to use a longish word — that is, from 
an impulse instead of a plan. And then, taking the other meaning 
of ‘ members,’ you know when papa, who is the head of the family, 
plans, according to what he is making, what we can afford to spend, 
he leaves still a good deal of choice with us as to how we will spend 
it. You might have had a sealskin muff this winter instead of your 
plain little gray squirrel, and I might have had a velvet coat instead 
of a cloth one ; but we both preferred the trip to the seashore with 
papa.” 

“Yes, I see what you mean, mamma,” answered Effie with great 
animation. “We all have ‘all the time there is,’ as somebody or 
other says, but we may choose how we will spend it. And it is 
lovely to think that we and everybody are members of one great 
large family, with the dear Saviour for the Head. Only,” she added 
a little sadly, “ I’m afraid we don’t always behave as if we were all 
brothers and sisters. Just for a few minutes last Sunday I felt 
vexed that those two poor little children came into our pew, and I 
thought there was plenty of room farther back ; and then all at 
once I remembered about the ‘ poor man in mean apparel,’ and I 
felt so ashamed that I could hardly wait until church was out to ask 
them always to sit there if they liked it.” 

Effie Ashton was but seven years old, but she was an only child, 


MJiS. HEATH'S STORY. 


229 


and her mother had talked to her and read to her ever since she 
could remember as if she had been much older than she really was, 
for Efifie had never been strong and her home had been a rather 
lonely country place. The little girl had a cough which caused her 
mother and father much anxiety, and at the time of which I am 
writing they had just decided to go to the south of France for the 
winter, hoping that the entire change of air and scene, the sea- 
voyage, and the mild climate might give their child the health and 
strength which they so earnestly desired for her. 

Mr. Ashton, who was one of the partners in a silk-importing 
house, found that he could obtain an extension of the leave which 
had been granted him for a journey required by his business; and 
the whole thing was arranged so suddenly that Efifie felt as if she 
were dreaming and must wake up presently, when she stood on the 
steamer’s deck and watched the shore which seemed to be travel- 
ling away so fast. She was quite sure of being awake, however, 
when a sudden feeling of dizzy sickness, a sort of essence of all 
the swinging she had ever done, made her thankful to crawl into 
her berth and shut her eyes ; but as the passage was comparatively 
smooth, she soon recovered, and then the long, bright days on deck 
were a series of unalloyed delights to her, and she was sorry when 
the land, which had travelled away from her on one side of the 
ocean, appeared to be travelling out to meet her on the other. 

But when they had once landed delight began '^again, everything 
was so strange, so different. The cars which they took to reach 


230 


CLOVER BEACH. 


London, instead of being open from end to end, as they are here, 
were divided into what Effie thought the coziest little compartments 
she had ever seen. The people, although they spoke English, to 
be sure, spoke it with a manner and accent very different from what 
she was accustomed to hear at home, and the landscape through 
which they were rushing was very unlike anything she had ever 
seen out of a picture. 

They were to make no stay in London, for it was already late in 
the season, and Effie’s father and mother feared the dampness of 
the English climate for her. She felt very sorry that she might not 
at least see the Tower and London Bridge and Westminster Abbey, 
but she was promised at least a week in London on the return jour- 
ney, when the weather would be warm and perhaps dry. 

They went immediately to the railway-station where they were to 
take the train for Dover, for they had no friends to visit in London 
and a drizzling, chilly rain was falling. Mr. Ashton had some busi- 
ness to transact, which he expected would occupy him for an hour 
or two, and Mrs. Ashton had a little shopping to do, chiefly for 
Effie ; so, very reluctantly, they left the little girl at the station, 
giving her many cautions about staying exactly where they left her, 
and not allowing herself to be enticed away by anything that any 
one might say to her. 

“ But must I stay inside, mamma ?” she asked pleadingly. 
“ There is such a nice bench out here, and I could see so many 
things !” 


^fRS. HEATH'S STORY. 


231 


“ It is raining now, dearie,” said her mother, “and the air is too 
damp for you to be outside, even under this roof ; but if the sun 
should come out you may come out too.” 

Mr. Ashton came back, before he had been gone ten minutes, to 
lay a queer-looking doll on Elbe’s lap. “ There, my posey !” he 
said, “ I have brought you a little native to take care of and to keep 
you company. Good-bye once more, and don’t be afraid.” 

“ Afraid, papa !” and Effie’s brown eyes opened to their widest. 
“What should I be afraid of?” 

“Nothing, to be sure,” said papa; and then Effie laughed 
merrily at the idea of being “afraid of nothing,” and so her 
father left her. 

Now, he and her mother had both said that they would be 
back in two hours at the very latest, and it was ten o’clock by 
the clock in the station when they went away. The first half 
hour was a slow one; nobody was in the room but a motherly- 
looking old woman asleep in a corner, and the rain was falling 
steadily. But the new doll was so delightfully absurd-looking 
that Effie tried to draw her picture on a card, and succeeded in 
making something still more absurd than the doll was. The old 
lady woke up presently, and talked kindly to the child, telling her 
of the little grandchildren at home and asking questions about 
America, until the train for which she was waiting came, and she 
was whisked off, leaving Effie quite alone. 

But just then the sun fairly blazed into the room, and Effie 


232 


CLOVER BEACH. 


darted out to the bench : then, remembering the bag and um- 
brella and heavy shawl which had been left in her care, she 
darted back, and settled herself once more on the bench with 
all her responsibilities — the shawl over her arm, the umbrella in 
the hand which was not occupied in holding the wonderful doll, 
and the bag close to her feet. 

Just then a train whizzed up to the station, and a pleasant-faced 
guard made a rush for the bag, saying briskly, “ Come, little 
missy, be lively now, or you’ll not get this train.” 

“But I don’t wish to get it,” said Effie sedately; “I am to stay 
here until mamma and papa come back.” 

The guard whistled, but he dropped the bag and looked at Effie 
with an amused face. “You don’t look quite old enough to be 
travelling alone, that’s a fact,” he said; “but when are they com- 
ing to collect you ?” 

“At twelve o’clock,” she answered, “and I don’t mind being 
alone. There was a dear old lady in the station just now, who 
talked to me as kindly as if she’d known me always, and I dare 
say somebody else will be here presently.” 

“ But you had better not be talking with everybody who comes 

along,” said the guard kindly; “you might have your things 

stolen, you know.” 

“Oh, I never saw anybody who would do that,” said Effie, 

greatly shocked; “and I don’t believe they would,” she added, 

earnestly, “ for you know ‘ we are all members, one of another.’ " 



»COME, LITTLE MISSY, OR YOU'LL NOT GET THIS TRAIN." 


See Page 232, 







{ 


Af/^S. HEATH'S STORY. 


235 


Before the guard could answer her his time was up, and he 
was whirled off, bowing and smiling to Effie as he went ; but the 
smile left his face when she was out of sight, and he looked puz- 
zled and thoughtful, 

‘“Members one of another’!” he repeated to himself. "I learn- 
ed that, and a good deal more like it, a goodish while ago, but 
I don’t think I — or anybody else, for that matter — act up to it 
exactly.” 

And everybody who spoke to that particular guard that day 
wondered at his civility, and the third-class passengers almost 
believed they were first-class for once in their lives when they 
were answered instead of being snubbed if they presumed to 
ask a question. 

Meanwhile, Effie sat on. For a while the riovelty of all around 
absorbed her, then she began to feel hungry, and retired to the 
inside of the* station while she fished out of the bag and ate the 
sandwiches and crackers which her mother had left “ in case.” 

I mean her to tell her own story, so I will just mention briefly 
that Mr. and Mrs. Ashton were detained, sorely against their 
will, but quite unavoidably, until four o’clock, when they nearly 
knocked each other down rushing up the steps of the station in 
anxious haste. Visions of Effie crying, being stolen, falling 
asleep and “catching her death of cold,” had made them equally 
miserable, and Mr. Ashton laughed in a queer sort of way, and 
Mrs, Ashton only just did not cry, when they saw their little daugh- 


236 


CLOVER BEACH. 


ter sitting tranquilly on the bench in the pleasant sunshine, 
feeding a disreputable-looking London cat with the last end of 
the last sandwich. 

“Were you frightened, darling?” asked Mrs. Ashton tenderly. 

“Just a little bit, mamma,” said Effie, “when it struck one, and 
you did not come yet; but then I remembered to say ‘Our 
Father,’ and after that I was sure I was safe, and that you and 
papa were too ; and I tried to remember all the verses I could 
to make the time go faster; and just as I had come to that one 
we like so much — about ‘every one members,’ you know — a 
poor, tired lady with a little baby in her arms, and a little girl not 
much bigger beside her, sat down here, and the little girl cried 
for a drink, and I went and got her one. The lady watched my 
things while I went, for a kind man who got off a train that stop- 
ped said that somebody might steal them, and I didn’t believe it, 
but I thought I ought to be careful — why do you and papa smile 
at me, mamma? — and then I gave them the rest of my lunch, all 
but a sandwich that I’d taken a bite out of ; and I was so sorry 
I hadn’t any more, for they were really very hungry, I think ; 
and when their train came the lady kissed me good-bye ; and, 
mamma, she said ‘ God bless you, darling !’ Wasn’t that lovely 
of her? 

“And then an old man who came in dropped a shilling, and 
we had the greatest hunt for it, but we found it at last, away 
down in a crack, and I poked it out with my shawl-pin. Then a 


MRS. HEATH'S STORY. 


237 


pretty young lady left her umbrella, and I only just caught hef 
before she got into the car; and then this poor, thin pussy stole 
in, and I knew she wouldn’t mind my having bitten the sandwich. 
I coaxed and coaxed her, and she was so frightened, and I only 
just got her to eat before you came; so it hasn’t seemed long 
at all. But what kept you so much longer than you thought?” 

Then Mr. Ashton told how he had been kept because the man 
whom he was to meet had been an hour later in coming than he 
should have been, and then had insisted upon talking an hour 
longer than he should have talked ; and after all that a “ block ” 
in the street had kept him nearly another hour. And Mrs. Ash- 
ton told how she had gone from one store to another in a vain 
search for the articles which she wanted, and had become so tired 
and hungry that she had at last stopped for something to eat, 
thinking she had plenty of time, and wondering that it went so 
much more slowly than she had been going herself, until she at 
last discovered that her watch had stopped some time before she 
had ; and then, in her haste to get back, she had missed her 
way, and had finally to appeal to a friendly policeman for di- 
rection. 

All of which stories were told as the train carried them to 
Dover. 

I wonder how many of my little friends remember, as Effie 
did, the membership which binds them to “the whole family in 
heaven and earth” — how many of them forget themselves and 


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their troubles and affairs to do the “ little things ” which go so 
far toward the happiness of those whom we meet as we pass 
through “ this troublesome world ” ? Oh, how much less “ trouble- 
some ” it would be if we could all remember that 

" Little things on little wings 
Bear little souls to heaven ”! 


Our whole lives may pass without offering us any opportunity 
for greatness, but every day, and every hour of the day, brings 
with it an opportunity for goodness ; and the Saviour says sor- 
rowfully of each wasted opportunity, “ Inasmuch as ye did it not 
unto the least of these my brethren, ye did it not to me.” 

They spent a delightful winter in the south of France, and Efihe’s 
parents had the pleasure of seeing their little daughter grow much 
stronger; her cough disappeared, if one may speak in that manner 
of something which is quite invisible, and she spent hours of every 
day in that best of tonics, the open air. Effie had read an account 
of “ Children’s Day ” at St. Paul’s great cathedral, and was very 
anxious to witness the beautiful sight and to hear the singing, and 
Mr. and Mrs. Ashton timed their stay in London so that her wish 
might be gratified. The anniversary takes place early in June, and 
they arrived in London and settled themselves comfortably in lodg- 
ings the last week in May. 

Perhaps some of you have read about this “ Children’s Day,” but 
for those who have not I will give a brief account of it. The assem- 




w 

§ kr i 





THE CHILDREN'S DAY 


See Page 239 




4 



M/iS. HEATH'S STORY. 


24 


blage of children who were clothed and educated in the parochial 
schools took place for the first time in 1782. That is nearly a hun- 
dred years ago, you see ; and if any of those children who attended 
that first meeting are still living, think what very old people they 
must be now, and how many wonderful changes they have seen 
since that day. 

But every year since then the anniversary has been observed, 
although there is a large increase in the number of children ; and 
on this day in the early part of June, when Effie for the first time 
heard the lovely music made by the great organ, the choir of nearly 
a hundred singers, and the multitude of children’s voices, the mem- 
bers of the schools numbered between seven and eight thousand. 
Can you fancy it ? Row after row of little children, the girls all 
wearing white caps, neckerchiefs, and long-sleeved mittens, placed 
on raised platforms around the vast nave or open space in the 
middle of the cathedral, the rows of benches, each tier a little higher 
than the one in front, gradually rising to more than half the height 
of the pillars upon which the dome rests ! The girls are upon one 
side, the boys upon the other; the dresses are of different colors, 
for many schools are represented, and each school has its banner. 
Then the members of the choir are dressed in white surplices, so 
you can imagine what a beautiful picture is made when I tell you 
that sometimes nearly a thousand visitors are admitted besides all 
this host of children. 

Mr. and Mrs. Ashton went early to secure good places, and Effie 


242 


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did not find the time too long before the service began. She had 
visited the cathedral once before, but she felt as if countless visits, 
might be made before she would be familiar with all its beauty and 
wonderfulness, and her eyes wandered from place to place unwea- 
riedly until the children began to file in and take their seats. Then 
her whole attention was given to them, and she was struck, as she 
had been many times before in large assemblages of people, with 
the strangeness of seeing no two faces alike in all that vast crowd. 

Each child carried a bunch of flowers, and nearly every one of 
those little faces looked bright and smiling; but Effie, whose imagi- 
nation often ran away with her, began trying to fancy histories for 
them, and to imagine how it must feel to be fed and clothed and 
taught by public charity,' instead of receiving everything from a 
loving mother and father. 

She was too young to have read some verses which an English 
poet made about this custom. His name was Blake, and he 
was called the “mad poet;” but whether he was mad or not, he 
wrote some very beautiful and striking poems, and here is what 
he wrote about Charity Day at St. Paul’s: 

Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, 

The children walking two and two, in red and blue and green : 

Gray-headed beadles walked before with wands as white as snow. 

Till into the high dome of Paul’s they like Thames’ waters flow. 

“ Oh, what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town ! 

Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own. 


M/iS. HEATH'S STORY. 


243 


The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs — 

Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands. 

‘Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song, 

Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among; 

Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor. 

Then cherish pity lest you'drive an angel from your door." 

But if Effie was strongly impressed by the sight of all those 
‘‘innocent faces.” her excitement went beyond bounds when the 
first grand strain of music rose from organ, choir, and children. 
She hid her face on her mother’s shoulder, sobbing quietly, and 
when Mrs, Ashton, alarmed, whispered, “What is it, darling? 
Are you ill?” she murmured between her sobs, “No, mamma; 
but it is so beautiful !” 

She grew quieter, however, as the service proceeded, and was 
able to listen with smiles instead of tears; for it was the unex- 
pected grandeur and beauty of that great volume of harmonious 
sound that had started the tears, which, after all, were not “ sor- 
ry tears,” as she explained to her mother when she found her 
voice. 

When the service was over they waited a little while to see 
the children file out and to allow the crowd to disperse, but this 
the crowd seemed in no hurry to do. Many were lingering 
for another look around the cathedral, and many were waiting 
for the rest to go. So at last Effie’s mother and father, seeing 
how tired and languid she seemed now that the excitement was 


244 


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over, began to try to work their way toward the door in the west 
front. The throng seemed to grow thicker as they advanced, 
and Mr. Ashton wished to carry Effie, but she laughingly beg- 
ged to be allowed to walk ; so her father gave her his hand, 
telling her to hold it fast, and on no account to let go until they 
had made their way out. 

But just in the thickest of the crowd a large, rough-looking 
woman pushed herself between Effie and her father, tearing their 
hands apart; people came surging between them like the waves 
of a mighty sea; and before Mr. Ashton could even turn, press- 
ed as he was on all sides, a false alarm was raised that the 
temporary scaffolding was falling. The alarm was caused by 
the creaking of one of the supports, against which several 
people were pressing, and there was no real danger; but any- 
body who has ever been in a panic-stricken crowd knows how 
less than senseless and more than helpless even ordinarily 
sensible and helpful people become. There was a frantic 
struggle to get out, and many children and some of the weaker 
women were knocked down and badly hurt. 

Among these was Effie. Deprived of the support of her 
father’s hand, she struggled weakly for a little while toward the 
spot where she had last seen him, but she could see him no 
longer ; the irresistible force of the crowd had borne him on, 
in spite of all his effort to turn or even to stand firmly in one 
place. Effie was pushed and hustled so violently that she tried 


MRS. HEATH'S STORY. 


245 


in vain to keep on her feet ; she fell, and before any one could 
raise her a heavy boot-heel struck her temple, and she knew no 
more. 

She could not tell whether she had been unconscious for hours 
or days or weeks when at last she faintly opened her eyes. A 
cool wind seemed to be blowing in her face ; a white wagon- 
cover arched above her, and she felt that the wagon was in 
motion. Then she found that she was lying on the lap of a stout, 
tall woman, whose kind face was bent anxiously above her. 

“There, my lamb!” said a cheerful voice, heartily, “you’re 
coming round at last; and you need have no fear — you’re with 
those that will take kind care of you.” 

“ But mamma — I want my mamma,” moaned the poor little 
girl ; “ and papa — he told me not to let go, but indeed I could 
not help it.” 

“ They’re coming, my pretty !” said the woman soothingly ; and 
then the pain shot through Effie’s temples and she fainted 
again. 

When she at last revived, and could see and hear plainly, she 
found herself on a poor, hard bed in a low-ceiled room. The 
kind-faced woman was standing by the bed with a puny baby 
in her arms, and Effie smelt a very strong odor of vinegar. 

“You’ll be all right now, my poor little lady,” said the woman 
kindly; “and as soon as you have your head again you must 
tell me where to find your papa and mamma — no doubt they’re 


246 


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in a fine fret by this time — and my man will take you home in 
the morning, for it’s too late for him to go back to the city 
to-day.” 

“ My papa’s name is Ashton,” said Effie slowly, “ and we are 
lodging — Oh, dear !” and she began to cry bitterly, “ I don’t 
know the number, or even the street ; I never went out alone, 
and I did not notice.” 

“Never you mind that, my dear,” said the woman soothingly; 
“ if you’ve been living in London long the directory will tell.” 

“But we haven’t,” said Effie mournfully; “we only came a week 
or two ago, and we don’t know anybody.” 

The woman turned away as if to lay her baby down, but in 
reality to hide her troubled face. An impulse of pity had made 
her offer, when poor Effie had been carried into the street and 
an officer had been about to take charge of her, in order that 
the poor little lady should not go to the station-house, to take 
her home, and when she “ came to ” and told her name and 
address she should be at once restored to her parents. The 
policeman had no right to permit this, and if he had only done 
his duty Effie would not have been separated from her parents 
for a day ; but the woman looked honest and kind, he did not 
doubt that a child of Effie’s age could tell her address, and so, 
glad to be saved further trouble, he let her go. 

The woman who had, as she thought, befriended Effie was 
named Griscom, and lived with her husband in a suburb of 


MJiS. HEATH'S STORY. 


247 


London. They were extremely poor, and made a scanty living 
by peddling vegetables and flowers. Neither one of them could 
read or write, although they had come of “decent people,” and 
did not associate much with their rough and noisy neighbors. 
The ignorance of this honest man and woman would be consid- 
ered strange enough in our country of free schools, but it was 
not at all strange in England, where so many people grow up 
without having learned as much as one term at a public school 
would teach. 

John Griscom and his wife lived quietly in a wretchedly small 
and ruinous house, preferring even that to being thrown, as 
they must have been in a tenement-house, with rough and dis- 
orderly people. They had several children besides the sickly- 
looking baby, which in spite of Efifle’s own sorrow excited her 
pity by its pinched face and wailing cry. But the older children 
had been “put out” to work as soon as they were large enough 
for any one to be willing to take them, and were seldom able 
to come home. John and his wife had a hard struggle to live, 
for, as his business amounted to little or nothing in winter, they 
were obliged out of the scanty earnings of the summer to lay by 
enough to keep them from freezing and starving during the 
long, cold months of enforced idleness. 

But, poor and ignorant as they were, Effie soon found that they 
had the comfort which is better than any earthly gift : they were 
simple, humble Christians, and looked forward to a life in that 


248 


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better country which would “ far outpay the hardest labors of 
the road.” 

When Effie, worn out with crying, at last consented to be un- 
dressed and try to sleep, Mary Griscom, after helping her with 
a gentle kindness which comforted the little girl far more than 
she herself knew, said hesitatingly, “ And now you’ll say the 
prayer, my dear, which I make no doubt your dear mamma has 
taught you.” And Effie knelt at Mary’s knee, and with Mary’s 
rough hand lying gently on her head poured out her grief and 
her petition for help, and then, not a little comforted, fell asleep 
almost as soon as her head touched^ the hard pillow. She did 
not know until the next day that she had been given the only 
bed in the house, and that her kind-hearted hosts had slept on a 
bundle of straw in the low-roofed garret, for the house, had but 
three rooms, two below and one above. 

When Effie woke in the morning she looked around bewil- 
dered. Everything was clean and neat, but oh, how poor! She 
remembered in a few minutes, and she could not keep back a 
burst of tears — more for the trouble which she knew her father 
and mother were suffering than for her own. Then she lay and 
thought. Her little life had never known anything but the 
utmost care and love and comforting; she had been surrounded 
by mercies which had been such every-day affairs that she had 
taken them as a matter of course. Now she saw poverty such 
as she had only read of, and yet this woman did not rnurrnu.r. 


MRS. HEATH'S STORY. 


24Q 


Effie’s memory was good, and some verses from the story of 
Job, which she had read many times, flashed into her mind : 
“ Shall we receive good at the hand of the Lord, and shall we 
not receive evil ?” — “ The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken 
away ; blessed be the name of the Lord !” 

‘Yes,” she said softly to herself, “I think I was too selfish; and 
now I hope I shall always remember and try to help people more. 
And I will be patient ; I will. I can cry at night, when nobody can 
hear me, but in the daytime I will not let them know how sorry I 
am. And mamma and papa will come by and by, for I shall pray, 
and I know they will ; and I think I will not eat a great deal while 
I am here, for I am afraid they haven’t quite enough for themselves 
— the little baby looks so thin. And perhaps Mary — he called her 
Mary — would like me to help her take care of that poor little baby. 
I’ll ask her.” 

Then Effie got up and began to wash and dress herself Large 
girl as she was, it was the first time she had ever tried to do this 
alone, for being an only child and ill so often had made every one 
pet and wait on her in a way which would have spoiled a less loving 
and grateful child ; and she was very glad when Mary, hearing her 
step about the room, came in and offered her help with buttons and 
strings and tangled hair. 

“Would you mind if I called you nurse?” asked Effie. “You 
look just a little bit like a nice English nurse we had once, and I 
think I wouldn’t feel so lonely.” 


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Mary kissed the sweet little face warmly. “ Call me what you 
please, my poor little dear,” she said, “and I will take the best care 
of you I can until your papa and mamma come for you.” 

But although Mary spoke as if she thought they might come at 
any minute, her heart was full of trouble. Neither she nor her 
husband could write, and, could they have written, they had no 
money to pay for advertisements, and no faith whatever in the 
police. Their ignorance on most subjects was very great, and they 
would have thought themselves very cruel had they “given up to 
the police ” the little stranger who had come within their gate. 
Yet Mary knew that it was impossible for them to keep her. 
There were many days when they were stinted for even the coarse 
food which was all they could buy at any time ; and although they 
might contrive, by extra self-denial, to keep the little girl through 
the warm weather, it would be utterly out of the question in winter, 
for it was plain that she had never known hardship in any form. 

But day after day went by, and still Mary “ had not the heart,” 
as she said to John, to take the “sweet little thing” to a charitable 
institution, which was the only thing left for her to do. Effie had 
become very dear to them both. Her gentle, unselfish considera- 
tion for them, and her unrepining submission to the hard fare and 
many privations which were unavoidable, called forth their admiring 
love everyday. And meanwhile, strangely enough, the child grew 
stronger and more robust in the hard but free life that she now led. 
No doubt her former guarded and petted life had tended to make 


MRS. HEATH'S STORY. 


251 


her delicate, and this change, severe and trying as it was, proved a 
needed correction. 

At this thrilling point the tea-bell rang — most inopportunely, the 
children thought — and they begged Mrs. Heath to remember exactly 
where she left off, and to tell them the rest after tea. But the love- 
liness of the evening drew everybody down to the river ; there was 
rowing, and of course singing, and when they returned to the house 
Mrs. Heath declared that she was too tired to say another word 
that night. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

MRS. HEATH’S STORY (CONTINUED). 

Q OME days must be dark and 
^ dreary,’ ” sang Lina, as she came 
down stairs the next morning, and 
certainly, if a rainy day were the jus- 
tification as well as the cause of that 
“very mournful ballad,” she was fully 
justified in singing it, for the rain had 
broken its long truce and was coming 
down in sheets. But there was an 
unanimous shout of derision and dis- 
sent from the seven, and several of 
them exclaimed at once, “ We’ll catch 
Mrs. Heath and make her finish the 
story ; and we'll do everything we couldn’t spare the clear days for.” 

An expedition, made as waterproof as possible, was accordingly 
organized immediately after the delightfully picnicky breakfast, and 
Mrs. Heath, thus doubly taken by storm, gracefully yielded and 
continued : 



252 


MRS. HEATH'S STORY. 


253 


The summer passed, and the first really cold weather forced 
Mary and John to the much-dreaded decision which they had so 
often talked over while Effie was asleep ; and the little girl was toKl, 
with loving caresses and many tears, that owing to their poverty 
they could no longer keep her with them and must take her to an 
orphan asylum. Efifie knew what that was, for she had visited one 
one day with her father and mother, and she tried not to cry and 
to comfort Mary with the suggestion that she could come and see 
her child there. 

“There’s one thing comforts me, my lamb,” said Mary, wiping 
her eyes with the back of her hand : “ besides that you’ll be fed and 
clothed and cared for there, you’ll be taken to the cathedral when 
‘ Children’s Day ’ comes round again ; and I can’t but feel it in my 
bones that your dear papa and mamma, knowing that so many of 
the children in charities are taken there, will make sure to go and 
seek you among them.” 

“Oh, do you really think that?” cried Effie joyfully. “Then 
indeed, dear nurse, you need not mind taking me at all. I shall be 
thinking of it all the time, and I think I shall like being with all 
those little girls; it will keep me reminded about our all being 
members of one great, big family; and you must bring darling 
little Jenny to see me just as often as you can. Will Baby miss 
me. dear Baby, darling Baby ?” and Effie hid on the baby’s shoulder 
the tears which would come at the thought of leaving her kind 
protectors and going once more among strangers. 


254 


CLOVER BEACH. 


She went submissively, and as cheerfully as she could, to the 
orphan asylum the next day. John and Mary and the baby all 
went with her, and it was afternoon when they arrived, for the pocr 
old horse had found his load almost too heavy for him. 

Mary made a careful statement of the circumstances to the 
matron, which was written down, and to which Mary affixed her 
“ mark,” as she could not sign her name ; and the matron promised 
to watch the leading newspapers, and to insert an advertisement in 
one or two of them, giving Effie’s present home in case her mother 
and father should still be in London, though this was not at all 
probable ; and the matron gently reproved Mary for having taken 
no active steps to find Effie’s parents when the child was first lost. 
But when she understood how utterly destitute and friendless they 
were she pitied instead of blaming them, and would not let them 
go until they had eaten a hearty dinner — such a dinner as they had 
never even seen before. 

This matron was a good and gentle woman, and she comforted 
and soothed Effie when, Mary and John and the baby having at last 
gone, the child sobbed uncontrollably, feeling more deserted and 
alone than she had done on the day when she was first lost. The 
matron saw that Effie had been carefully and delicately brought up, 
and at first she was tempted to favor and spare her ; but when she 
considered that, should Effie’s parents die without having found and 
claimed her, the child would be obliged to earn her own living, she 
wisely decided not to interfere in any way with the regulations of 


MRS. HEATH'S STORY. 


255 


the institution, especially as Effie was now perfectly well and strong, 
besides being tall and large for her age. 

And now it was that Effie found daily more and more comfort in 
her little Bible and in her prayers, and in her homesick heart took 



comfort every night as she knelt with her little bed-fellow at the 
kind matron’s knee and said the prayer which her mother used to 
hear her say. Many of the children were rough and ignorant and 
coarse ; she was laughed at and plagued for “ putting on airs ; and 


256 


CLOVER BEACH. 


even the girls who felt and spoke kindly shared none of her feelings 
and tastes. The tasks she was given were light and easily per- 
formed, for the matron saw to it that none of the children were 
overworked ; and being an active little body, she did not grumble 
at having to learn to wash dishes and sweep and dust, and she 
worked quickly and well before many weeks had gone. 

She did not allow her homesick longing for her father and 
mother to make her idle or useless, and a poem which her mother 
used to read to her often came to her mind now. Mrs. Ashton had 
made Effie her companion in many ways, and had read and repeated 
to her verses which she herself loved even when they seemed too 
old for Effie ; and these two verses were all Effie could remem- 
ber of the poem, though she often tried to think of the rest : 

“ All things of Thee partake ; 

Nothing can be so mean 
That with this tincture, ‘ For Thy sake,’ 

Will not grow fine and clean. 

“ A servant with this clause 
Makes drudgery divine : 

Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws 
Makes that and the action fine.” 

This poem is called “ The Elixir,” and you will find it in George 
Herbert’s works. I wish I could know that every little one who is 
old enough to read has learned it by heart ; it is not very long. 

While Effie was humbly doing her duty at the orphan asylum in 
Westminster road, her mother was lying helpless and ill at Mentone, 


A/J?S. HEATH'S STORY. 


257 


but thinking by day and dreaming by night of her little daughter. 
She had meant never to leave London until her child was found, 
but the fright and shock of losing Effie, together with repeated colds 
— for she had gone in all weathers and at all hours with Mr. Ashton 
in search of her treasure — had finally made her so ill that the great 
London doctor whom Mr. Ashton had called in had told him very 
seriously that his wife could not endure the London winter, and 
that if he wished to save her life he must take her to a warmer 
climate. So, sadly against their will, they left London, fearing, 
since every effort to find their child had been in vain, that she must 
have died from injuries received in the cathedral or have been taken 
to some distant place to which they could obtain no clew. 

Still, they could not give up all hope. Although they had ascer- 
tained positively, before leaving London, that Effie was in none of 
the charitable institutions of the city, Mrs. Ashton thought that many 
things could happen which would cause her to be placed in one 
eventually ; and she longed for spring and returning health that 
she might go back to London and begin the search anew. 

Mr. Ashton, unable to be absent from his business any longer, 
had. been obliged to return to America after seeing his wife com- 
fortably settled in Mentone for the winter and providing her with 
a kind and faithful attendant. He arranged to meet her in London 
the following May. when, if all search for Effie should again prove 
unsuccessful, they would return home in the fall. 

But Mrs. Ashton would not allow herself to think of this possi- 


17 


258 


CLOVER BEACH. 


bility. She planned for Effie continually during the long, wakeful 
hours when coughing and fever deprived her of the little sleep 
which anxiety would have left her ; and when at last she began to 
grow better and to walk out once more, scarcely a day passed that 
she did not bring home some trifle “ for Effie,” I need not tell you 
how fervently she prayed that her child might be given back to her, 
trying all the time to feel that she could be resigned to God’s will 
should her prayer not be granted, for she knew how blindly we 
are all walking, and that all our prayers are worthless if we cannot 
add, “ Thy will be done.” 

So the winter passed slowly away to Effie’s mother, as it did to 
her, for Mary had guessed rightly in regard to “Children’s Day.” 
Mrs. Ashton was looking forward to it with an impatient longing, 
for she hoped that among the hundreds of children’s faces which 
would throng the dome of St. Paul’s she should find that one little 
face which was all the world to her. She felt sure of finding it if 
it should be there ; she thought that she would know if Effie were 
near even though she herself should be blind and deaf and dumb. 

She was startled and shocked by a passage in one of her hus- 
band’s letters about the middle of the winter. “ Did you see by 
the paper which I sent you the other day,” he wrote, “that the 
steamer on which we had taken passage last fall has not yet been 
heard from, and that every one now has given her up for lost, with 
all on board ? Dear wife, if our little daughter should be restored 
to us, as I still hope and pray that she may be, how shall we give 


M/^S. HEATH'S STORY. 


259 


thanks that we were saved, even by this hard measure, from a 
dreadful death !” Mrs. Ashton tried hard to be a patient and 
submissive invalid, and not to retard her recovery by frettino- 
or imprudence ; and as spring came on her health improved 
rapidly, so that when she at last left Mentone for London she 
felt quite as strong and well as she had been before her illness — 
a fact ‘which gave Mr. Ashton such heartfelt pleasure when he 
met her that he took fresh courage about Effie. They reached 
London on the last day of May, rather later than they had in- 
tended, but business had detained Mr. Ashton, and he, fearing 
that his wife would not be equal by herself to endure the painful 
associations of the city where her grief had been so great a year 
before, had telegraphed to her to wait and not come until the 
day on which he expected to arrive. This had been a disappoint- 
ment to Mrs. Ashton, for Wednesday was the first of June that 
year, and ^ so the “ Children’s Day,” which, you know, is always 
the first Thursday in June, was the second, and she wished to run 
no risk 'of not being in time for the festival'. 

However, nothing further happened to detain either of them, 
and there was still a day to spare. This day Mr. Ashton insisted 
should be spent by his wife in perfect quietness, that she might 
be able to go through with the fatigue and excitement, and, as he 
greatly feared, the disappointment of the day which was to follow. 
He himself spent the day in taking advertisements of their loss 
to the leading papers, and in visiting as many of the orphanages 


26 o 


CLOVER BEACH. 


and refuges as he could in so short a time ; but as, necessarily, 
he was detained for some time in each one, he could only go to 
two or three, and neither of these was the one where he would 
have found Effie. 

As the hour for the morning service approached he tried to 
persuade his wife to remain at home and let him go alone. He 
feared the effect of the music, always so touching, of those hun- 
dreds of childish voices on her excited nerves ; but she seemed 
so distressed at the bare idea of giving up this opportunity, to 
which she had so long looked forward, that he ceased to oppose 
her, and they went early, that they might be seated before the 
children came in. But they had not realized that at the distance 
from the children where their seats were placed they could 
scarcely distinguish faces at all, and that the uniform which the 
children wore made this still more difficult to do. 

As the first strain of triumphant music rose from the children’s 
lips, Mrs. Ashton cried far more bitterly than Effie had cried a 
year before : the sweetness of the childish treble seemed more 
than she could bear. But she struggled hard to regain at least 
outward quietness, and finally succeeded, and then, with the 
powerful opera-glass which she had brought for the purpose, she 
patiently examined the little faces, row after row. She thought, 
afterward, that Effie’s face must have been among the number 
that she scrutinized, but the little girl, whom she had last seen 
pale and delicate-looking, had grown plump and rosy; her 


AfJ?S. HEATH'S STORY. 


261 


complexion had become coarser by exposure to all weathers: 
and her hair, which her mother had so carefully curled every 
morning, was tucked away under the quaint little cap, and her 

mother could not see the curly locks wliich had crept out at 

the back. 

Still hoping against hope, Mrs. Ashton sat still, determined to 
stay until the end of the service, and then station herself at 
one door, while Mr. Ashton stood at another, and look closely 
at every little 'face as it passed out. 

But of this there was no need. In the hush following one of 

the grand anthems a child’s voice rang through the dome, “ Motli- 

er ! father ! oh, mother !” and the girls who stood near Effie, 
turning hastily to see who had dared to call out at such a time 
and in such a place as this, saw little Effie, standing pale and 
motionless, grasping with both hands the hand of the tall girl 
who stood beside her, and who, in spite of her surprise, kept 
her eyes demurely fixed upon the choir-leader with an expres- 
sion which showed that she felt that the eyes of England were 
upon her. 

Effie’s flowers had fallen at her feet, and when the old beadle, 
looking at her severely, had picked them up and put them in 
her hand with a whispered reproof, she began to cry quietly, and 
whispered to him, “ Oh, sir ! oh, please ! My mother and father 
are there, but they do not see me, and if they go away I am 
afraid I shall never see them again.” 


262 


CLOVER BEACH. 


The little girl who stood next to Effie on the other side ex- 
plained hurriedly to the beadle, “She’s at my school, please, sir, 
and she’s been lost a year ; and if she sees her people you’d 
best go and tell them.” 

So, Effie, controlling herself by a mighty effort, made him 
understand where her father and mother were, describing and 
directing until she was sure he knew. And indeed he had no 
trouble in finding them at all, for Mrs. Ashton had fainted when 
she heard that cry ; and when he reached her her husband had 
just succeeded in persuading the crowd to part enough to let 
him through, and was making his way to the door with his 
wife in his arms. 

It was in the beautiful library of the cathedral that Effie met 
once more the dear mother and father whom she had feared she 
should never see again in this world. The beadle had conducted 
Mr. and Mrs. Ashton there, that they might be free from the 
crowd and alone with their little daughter, whom he quietly 
brought to them as soon as Mrs. Ashton had recovered from 
her faintness. 

1 cannot tell you much about that meeting, but perhaps you 
can imagine it ; and you will believe that no more joyful and 
thankful hearts beat in London that night than those of Effie and 
her mother and father. 

They went the next day to the orphanage from which Effie 
had been so suddenly taken to explain things to the kind ma- 


MRS. HEATH'S STORY. 


263 


tron; and nothing would satisfy Mrs. Ashton but the promise 
that she might be permitted to give the children a whole holiday 
and a feast of as much fruit and wholesome cake as they could 
comfortably eat. 

The matron had taken the address of Mary and John Gris- 
com, and more than one visit was paid by Kfifie and her parents 
to the kind-hearted people who had taken the child to a safe 
shelter; and no word was ever spoken to make Mary and John 
feel that, had their intelligence been equal to their kindness, Efhe 
probably would have been restored to her mother and father the 
day after she was lost. 

It distressed Mr. and Mrs. Ashton to think that these good 
people had no prospect before them but a life of privation and 
toil, and death in an almshouse, and they easily persuaded Mary 
and John that in America, with steady work and good wages, 
they could make provision for their old age and live in comfort 
in the mean time. But when Mr. Ashton proposed to pay their 
passage, saying that their goodness to Efihe would more than 
cancel the debt, he met with a civil but determined refusal ; and 
it was only after he had convinced them that they could easily 
work out their debt to him within a year, and make a living be- 
sides, that they yielded. If you should go to see Efihe you would 
be sure to be introduced to them, for John is Mr. Ashton’s gar- 
dener now, and Mary is laundress, and two more honest and 
faithful servants than they are would be hard to find. 


264 


CLOVER BEACH. 


When Effie heard of the loss of the ship in which they were to 
hav'^e sailed a year before she said, with the simple faith which had 
sustained her in all her troubles, “ Mamma, if we could only see, 
don’t you suppose it is that way always ? It seems like that verse, 
‘ God having prepared some better thing for them.’ And do you 
remember what you told me a year ago about that great painter 
who was painting pictures in the dome of St. Paul’s, and who was 
just going to step backward off the scaffold when his friend 
smeared his picture with the brush and made him rush forward ? 
You know he was not angry when he heard the reason, though 
he would have been very angry indeed if he had never found it 
out ; but we know we can trust our Father never to make a 
mistake.” 

Mrs. Heath stopped, and the children began: “But that isn’t 
all?” “We want to know what became of her after she got 
home;” “And of John and Mary;” “And — ” 

Mrs. Heath covered her ears with her hands, laughing, and 
retreated toward the door, saying, “You ungrateful creatures! 
The story is done, and I get no thanks at all — only questions to 
answer which would be to tell another.” 

Then the chorus changed its tune: “We’re ever so much 
obliged, dear Mrs. Heath ;” “It was a lovely story;” “You can 
tell us the rest another time, you know.” 

But Mrs. Heath was gone. 


MRS. HEATH'S STORY. 


265 


So was Polly’s kitten, the unfortunate kitten which had no name 
Nothing in the way of a name which had been suggested to Polly 
had seemed to her to be good enough for such an uncommonly 
intelligent and affectionate kitten ; and the suggestions had been 
many and various. So now, when this nameless creature had 
disappeared — it had not been seen for at least two hours — the 
children all told her that it was useless for her to ask them to help 
hunt for a kitten which couldn’t be called. 

“ But it can,” said Polly, half crying. “ I’ve been calling her 
‘ Kitty’ till I find a real name for her, and she comes just as if it 
was her real name.” 

They laughed at this, but everybody had something very import- 
ant to do just then, Nelly was going so soon, and they had so 
much to show her and do with her yet. Little Tom, alone of the 
seven, took Polly’s hand, and said protectingly, “ I'll take care of 
you, my Polly, and keep the cows off, and when we find Kitten 
we’ll give her a great big name : I’ll dream her a name.” 

So Polly and Tom went off, hand in han 1, down the lane, for 
Lina and Nelly were absorbed with the hammock which they were 
just finishing, and which Nelly was to take with her; Charlie was 
reading aloud to them ; and the rest, engaged with various works, 
such as making thistle-balls, drying flowers in sand, and whittling, 
were listening to the reading. 

But Lina, who had 'grown much more thoughtful during this 
summer of unusual responsibility, had an uneasy consciousness 


266 


CWVER BEACH. 


that she was neglecting’ her duty, for she knew her mother felt 
quite at ease about the little ones, believing them to be under her 
care. So, although they had come to a very interesting part of the 
story, she threw down her netting-needle, and telling them to go on 
without her, she would catch up with them afterward, she ran 



down the lane, feeling a little uneasy, for Polly and Tom were 
already out of sight. She was not made any less uneasy by hear- 
ing one of Polly’s high little screams, and as she turned from the 
lane, which was hedged with a thicket of wild rose-bushes, into the 
field, she saw Polly standing so as to protect Tom, while just beyond 
them a “ terrible cow ” stood with raised head, lowing at the top 


MRS. HEATH'S STORY. 


267 


of her voice, but not offering any further intimation of danger. A 
wave of Lina’s hands and an energetic “Shoo!” decided the old 
lady to start for the other end of the field, and Polly, half sobbing 
and half laughing, flew to Lina and caught her hand. 

“ She howled at Tom first,” said Polly when she had recovered 
her voice, “ and I thought she would toss him with her horns next ; 
so I got between them and screamed ; and then she howled at me 
for screaming ; and if you hadn’t come and shoo’d her away, sister, 
I do suppose she’d have picked us up, one on each horn.” 

“You little goose!” said Lina, trying to laugh: “it’s old Red — 
you were milking her, or thinking you milked her, only last night — 
and she’s as gentle as a lamb. They took her calf away this morn- 
ing, and that’s what makes her ‘ howl ’ so, poor thing ! But it was very 
good of you to get between her and Tom when you were so afraid 
— better than I was, for I oughtn’t to have let you go off alone. 
But come, we’ll look for that nameless kitten now till we find her. 
I think it very likely she has gone to the cottage : I saw her eating 
out of the little pugs’ plate only yesterday.” 

Lina had led them on as she talked, until now they were nearly 
at the cottage, when Tom, who had been quite silent throughout 
the whole proceeding, suddenly said with great gravity, “ I would 
have got in front of Polly, but I hadn’t time.” 

Lina and Polly laughed so at this speech that Tom put up his lip 
for a little cry, but just then they heard a pleasant, childish voice 
saying, “And if you would not wander from home, then my dog 


268 


CLOVER BEACH. 


would not chase you. I know who you are : I have seen you with 
the dear little children at the farm.” 

They looked over the gate, and there, by the open door, stood a 
bright-faced little girl with the nameless kitten on her shoulder, and 
a beautiful hunting-dog watching it jealously as he stood in front 
of her panting. 

Lina did not hesitate to go in, for her mother and Mrs. Heath 
had called upon the old gentleman’s wife, and found her so pleasant 
and kind, and so anxious to have the children visit her, that permis- 
sion had been given them to do so. 

The little girl came forward, smiling brightly. “You are Lina,” 
she said, “ and this is Polly, and that is Tom, and / am Katrine. 
My dear uncle and aunt have told me about you, and I am so glad 
you are here ! I am come to stay a month, and although I love the 
dear uncle and aunt much, I miss my brother and sister; so you 
will let me play sometimes with you, will you not?” 

Lina and Polly gave a cordial assent ; the kitten made plenty to 
talk of until they felt quite like old friends ; then they branched off 
to the dog, which little Katrine told them belonged to her, and had 
come with her the day before. She said that her dog’s name was 
Bismarck, and that he had already made friends with Dandy, but 
that the pugs would have nothing to do with him, while he growled 
whenever he saw them. 

She joyfully consented to “ help take the kitten,” which still clung 
to her shoulder, back to the farm ; and when Polly confided to her 






1 


MJiS. HEATH'S STORY. 


271 


the trouble about the name she laughed merrily, and said, “ I think 
my name would be a very good name for her ; then you could still 
call her by the name which she already knows for a — a nickname ; 
is that not what you say?” 

Polly was so delighted with this proposal that she adopted it 
immediately ; and the curious part of it was that that kitten never 
knew her name was changed at all ! 

The acquaintance with little Katrine proved a great pleasure to 
the children, and served somewhat to console them for Nelly’s loss 
when she went, soon after Katrine was discovered. It ^ did not 
make up to Lina for it, for Nelly was about Lina’s age, and they 
were congenial in many ways. But if the old German lady really 
did pine for the society of children when she first came to Clover 
Beach, Mr. Cheston said she probably “pined the other way” 
before the summer was over. A day rarely passed without her 
receiving calls varying in frequency and in the number of callers at 
a time — from one to eight. But no number of calls or callers 
seemed able to exhaust her supply of sugar-cake and good-temper, 
until Mrs. Denison declared herself jealous, and threatened to stop 
making cookies. As nobody in all their experience had ever 
equalled Mrs. Denison as a cooky-maker, this threat called forth a 
flattering demonstration of regard. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


A PERHAPS THAT CAME TRUE, ANOTHER STORY, AND THE END. 

perhapses do not always cornu 
true, either the pleasant or the 
unpleasant ones, but Mr. Cheston’s 
“perhaps” about the island actually 
did come to be fulfilled, rather to the 
surprise of every one. 

The loncrer vacation which he took 
in September and part of October 
was not such a festive occasion as 
the holiday week had been, for he 
was tired and needed rest. The 
summer days in town had been warm, his business cares had 
been heavy, and when he arrived on the Saturday which began 
his three weeks’ holiday he threw himself into a hammock and 
announced his intention of spending the whole three weeks in it. 
As the sweet, bracing air revived and strengthened him, however, 
he changed his mind, and took the children fishing or rowing or 
for a long country ramble often enough to satisfy much more 
exacting people than they were. 

272 



A PERHAPS THAT CAME TRUE, AND THE END. 


273 


So they thought he was giving them very good measure indeed 
when he announced, one lovely September afternoon, that if tha 
weather “ held ” until the next day, and mamma would give he* 
consent, they would spend a day and night on the island. Of 
course mamma consented, the weather held, “and more too,” 
they said, for the next day was even warmer, and the happy 
party, consisting of Mr. Cheston, Lina, Nora, Charlie, and Dick, 
rowed off with the tent — which they had cheerfully uprooted for 
the occasion — shawls, old blankets, provisions, and matches. 

You have all been to the island before, so 1 will not go over it 
again with you,' but will merely mention the sad fact that Lina 
and Nora privately agreed that the sleeping part of it was a 
snare and a delusion: no amount of pine-boughs and blankets 
were equal to a mattress, and there was a feeling of insecurity 
about the roof which was not soothing every time a puff of wind 
shook the canvas. But the expedition, taken as a whole, was 
charming, and they were always glad, after it was safely over, 
that they really had “ camped out.” 

Meantime the small stay-at-homes had coaxed their mother to 
“ make up to them for not going ” by a long ramble In the wood, 
and, while they rested under the trees, she told them the follow- 
ing story : 

“When I was about eight years old, and my little brother and 
sister were about six and four, my father was obliged to take a 


18 


CLOVER BEACH. 


274 


long journey on business, and had not time to make any arrange- 
ment for mother and ourselves, such as he would have liked to 
make, about leaving us in a less lonely place than the house in 
which we were then living. It was an old farm-house, about a 
mile from a country village and at least a quarter of a mile from 
the nearest house. He had rented it for the summer, and the 
fall had been so pleasant and ‘open,’ as the country people say, 
that we had lingered on until now it was November, and no ar- 
rangement had yet been made for our winter home. The weather 
when he went was still bright and pleasant, but within a day or 
two it changed, and after one or two days and nights of hard 
frost it moderated and a heavy snow fell. We had but one ser- 
vant at the time, a faithful middle-aged woman who had lived 
with mother for several years, and our only other protector was 
a large Newfoundland dog. 

“The day after the snow fell Betty, the servant, slipped on 
the ice by the kitchen-door and broke her arm and collar-bone. 
It was late in the afternoon, and it was not likely that any of 
the neighbors would pass before night. With great difficulty 
mother succeeded in getting poor Betty into the house, and then 
she told me that I would have to go to our nearest neighbor and 
ask him to go for the doctor. She bundled me up warmly, and 
I set out cheerfully enough, for it was not very far, and I liked 
the fun of walking through the snow, which in some places was 
quite deep. But there was a bitter north wind which almost 


A PERHAPS THAI' CAME TRUE, AND THE END. 


275 


drew tears from my eyes, the snow clogged my boots after a 
wdiile, and the fun began to be earnest. 

“ As I came near the house to which I was going I noticed that 
none of the men were about the barn ; a little boy not much 



older than myself, was standing by the fence looking wistfully 
up the road. I knew him slightly, for he had been to our house 
on errands once or twice. 

‘“I want to see your father. Jack,’ I said; ‘our Betty’s broken 
her arm, and has to have the doctor.’ 


276 


CLOVER BEACH. 



“‘Now, that’s too bad!’ said Jack, sympathizingly. ‘Our folks 
are all gone to the vandoo, and they left me home to look after 
granny.’ 

“I did not suggest to him that ‘granny’ was not very much 
better off by this arrangement so long as he stayed out of doors. 


I knew I had no time to waste, so I said good-bye and pushed 
on for the next house. I felt much encouraged when I saw, 
from some distance, that the kitchen-door was open and that a 
bright fire was blazing within. A little girl, who had been my 
favorite playmate during the summer, stood at the door scatter- 



A PERHAPS THAT CAME TRUE, AND THE END. 277 



ing crumbs to the half-frozen birds, which, made tame by hunger, 
hopped close to her feet. 

“ ‘ Oh, Susy,’ I called as soon as I was near enough, ‘ I’m so glad 
you’re at home ! Will you ask your father to go right off for the 
doctor? Betty’s broken her arm.’ 

‘“Oh dear!’ said Susy, half crying; ‘our folks are every one 
gone to the sale, and won’t be home till dark. They wouldn’t 
take me because I had a cold, and I m so lonesome ; and when 
I saw you I just jumped for joy. What in the world will you do?’ 


278 


CLOVER BEACH. 


“ ‘ Go on to the next place,’ I said forlornly, for I was tired now, 
and the next place seemed a good way off. ‘You’d better go 
in, Susy ; you’ll catch more cold. Good-bye.’ 

“ ‘ Dear me !’ said Susy ; ‘ I never thought of that. Good-bye, 
Nelly. I’m so sorry about poor Betty, and you too!’ 

“ I pushed on, but before I reached the next farm my heart 
leaped for joy as I saw several boys skating on a pond not far 
from the road. I made my way somehow over the fence and 
through a snowy field to the edge of the pond. Three bright, 
eager-looking little fellows were racing ahead, while a fourth, a 
dull-looking boy, came slowly and timidly some distance behind 
them. I called as loud as I could, but it was some time before I 
could make them hear; then the three foremost boys wheeled 
up to the bank, touching their little round caps politely. 

“ I stated my trouble in a few words, and asked if one of them 
would be willing to go for the doctor for me. They looked at 
each other silently for a minute, and then one spoke. ‘ I’m sorry,’ 
he said, ‘but my mother told me to come home before dark, and 
it’s ’most dark now.’ ‘So did mine,’ murmured the next; and 
‘ So did my father,’ said the last ; and, touching their caps once 
more, they skated gracefully away up the pond. 

“I was turning away, almost crying, when the fourth little boy, 
whom I had scarcely noticed, clumsily made his way to where I 
was standing and said bashfully, ‘ What was it you wanted, 
little galr’ 



“I SAW SEVERAL BOYS SKATING ON A POND, 


See Page 278 


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A PERHAPS THAT CAME TRUE, AND THE END. 


281 


“I objected to being called ‘little gal,’ but the boy’s face, though 
stupid, was kind, and he seemed in earnest. 

“ ‘ I wanted somebody to go for the doctor,’ I said in a tremb- 
ling voice, ‘but those boys — ’ And I stopped suddenly, feeling 
as if my heart had come up in my throat 

“ ‘ Now don’t you cry, sissy,’ said my new little friend, so kindly 
that I almost forgave him for calling me ‘sissy.’ ‘Just tell me 
which doctor it is and where he’s to go, and I’ll fetch him, and 
you can go home and get warm.’ 

“ I gave him the directions he asked for, and then I could not 
help adding, ‘ I think you’re the very nicest boy that ever lived, 
and if you’ll come to see me I’ll give you my very best picture- 
book.’ 

“ ‘ Will you, really .^’ he said, his dull face brightening ; ‘ are 
you in earnest ?’ 

“‘Of course I’m in earnest,’ I cried; ‘you come and you’ll 
see ;’ and, exchanging cordial good-byes, we ran off in opposite 
directions. 

“But, alas! in crossing a little foot-bridge over a stream my 
foot slipped through a treacherous hole which the snow had 
covered, and I sank down, a helpless little heap, with a sprain- 
ed ankle. Then, indeed, I cried bitterly, but I had not been 
crying long when I heard a deep-toned bark, and there, to my 
great joy, was old Watch, the Newfoundland, dragging half of 
his broken chain. I put my arms round his shaggy neck, and he 


282 


CLOVER BEACH. 


licked my face, and then, to my consternation, bounded away ; 
and no calling could bring him back, or even stop him. I gave 
myself up to die then, and thought that if any more snow should 
fail they would probably not find me until spring. I tried to 
think how father and mother would feel, and how Watch’s con- 
science would reproach him for having left me, when I heard his 
joyful bark once more, and then I saw mother coming hastily 
along the snowy road, with one of the farmers who had been 
to the ‘vandoo.’ 

“He carried me home in his strong arms, and after I had been 
rubbed and given hot catnip tea, and wrapped in a blanket and 
set before the fire to toast, mother told me about Watch. He 
had seemed very uneasy as soon as I left, barking and whining; 
but mother had taken no notice of him until, looking anxiously 
out of the window for me and for the doctor, she saw his broken 
chain hanging to the kennel, and knew that he had escaped. 
Not long afterward she heard him scratching and whining at 
the kitchen-door, and on being let in he acted so singularly that 
he made her understand that he wished her to follow him. She 
was much alarmed about me by this time ; so, tying her two 
little children to a heavy table at a safe distance from the fire, 
she followed Watch, fortunately meeting on the way some of her 
neighbors, one of whom kindly offered to go with her. We found 
the doctor at the house when we returned; he set Betty’s leg, 
and said no harm had been done by the delay, except to me. 



“ON BEING LET IN HE ACTED SINGULARLY." 


See Page 282, 



A PERHAPS THAT CAME TRUE, AND THE END. 


285 


I had a sharp attack of inflammatory rheumatism in consequence 
of the long exposure to cold, and my new little friend came al- 
most daily to inquire about me. When my father — to whom 
mother had written all about everything — came home he brought 
books to the kind-hearted boy who had helped us out of our 
trouble, which made the dull eyes sparkle with delight, and en- 
• tirely eclipsed the picture-book which, true to my word, I had 
given him. But I liked him best of all when, turning from his 
new treasures to me, he said shyly, ‘ I’ll like the first one best, 
though, because it was yours, and because it was the first present 
1 ever had.’ ” 

“ Then he never could have had any Christmases,” said Kitty 

pityingly, when she found the story was done. 

“We gave him a Christmas that year,” said her mother, smiling, 
“ which I don’t believe he ever forgot.” 

“ Oh, please tell us about it,” said two or three of those insa- 
tiable people at once. 

“Do you see where the sun is?” said Mrs. Cheston : “that 
means that the tea-bell will ring or the horn will sound in about 

half an hour; so it is high time we began to go home.” 

And when they found that Mrs. Denison had put raisins in the 
gingerbread, and a little bouquet at each plate for their further 
consolation, they were very glad they had not kept tea waiting. 

Perhaps you will think that after the camping-out was over 


286 


CLOVER BEACH. 


the family felt as if Clover Beach were exhausted, at least for 
that season. Not at all ! Some new delight, or some new way 
of using an old one, was discovered every day, and there was 
a very general and sore lamentation when the time for packing 
up and returning to the city quarters came. Lessons were re- 
sumed when the school-year began, but that only made the play- 
time more precious, and the bracing October weather made every 
one feel more than ever inclined for long walks and boating- 
parties and games of croquet ; and when the wood-fire sparkled 
in the evening on the wide, old-fashioned hearth, there was the 
fun of roasting chestnuts and making walnut candy. 

A few gentle words from their mother had made them all anx- 
ious- to lighten in every way which was possible to little hearts 
and hands the care which had brought such a tired look into the 
dear father’s eyes. And it is surprising how much is possible to 
willing hearts and hands, be they ever so small. When the little 
ones stopped disputing over trifles because it “ worried papa 
when Lina put down her drawing to take Kitty and Polly and 
Tom from a noisy game of “tag" for a walk, because her father 
looked tired, and she thought if everything were quiet he might 
take a nap: when Charlie took a long hot walk to surprise his 
father with a new straw hat in place of the one which had blown 
into the river; when Dick, who hated to read aloud, offered to 
read the paper to his father every day to save his eyes ; and when 
Nora, who, if possible, hated sewing more than Dick hated read- 


A PERHAPS THAT CAME TRUE. AND THE END. 287 


ing aloud, offered to mend three or four pairs of gloves which he 
had brought with him in various stages of decline, — then the tired 
father felt new strength come into his heart: the battle of life, 
which is so hard, so desperate when courage fails, seemed an easy 
thing to him, for he was fighting it not only for those whom he 
loved, but for those who loved him. 

My little people whom I have followed through all these pages 
are just beginning this battle. But I think they are beginning in 
a way which, if followed, makes the victory sure. They will not 
be gloomy or grave because they have enlisted under the flag of 
that great Leader who asks their allegiance that he may give them 
His protection, “strengthened with all might, according to His 
glorious power, unto all patience and long-suffering, with joy- 
fulness!' 



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